


Siren's Brood

by CallMePopcorn, EldritchBloodGod



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Addiction, Additional Warnings Apply, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amputation, Autophagey, Blood, Borderline, Caffeine Addiction, Cannibalism, Canon-Typical Violence, Cult Initiantion, Cybernetics, Dark Rhys, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Death Threats, Drinking, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Eavesdropping, Explicit Language, Eyeballs, Gender Dysphoria, Good Dad Jack, Gore, Graphic Description, Graphic Descriptions of Cannibalism, Guns, Handsome Jack (Borderlands) Being an Asshole, Human based leather, Hyperion, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Injury, Invasive Telepathy, Jack being Jack, Kill Stealing, Killing, M/M, Major Character Injury, Military defiance, Military reports, Minor Character Death, Multi, Murder, Murder Spa, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pet Names, Programmer Handsome Jack, Psychological Manipulation, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Puberty, Religious Cults, Ritualistic Cannibalism, Ritualistic Nudity, Ritualistic public bathing, Rumors, Self-Harm, Siren Rhys (Borderlands), Skag Skin Boots, Slow Burn, Spies & Secret Agents, Stalking, Story Time with Moxxi, Suspected Vampirism, Theoretical Puking, Torture, Trans-NonBinary-Demiboy!Rhys, Trust Building Exercises, Unethical Experimentation, Violence, Voice Kink, Young Angel (Borderlands), blatant disregard for people names, blood bath, choking... wait sorry no strangling, god-complex, harrowing experience, heavy religious themes, horny bastards, kinky bastards, poisoning mention, preaching, romanticized violence, sweaty middle management, tactial retreat, there is a lot wrong with this fic, under pressure, violence kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:14:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 27
Words: 30,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22272397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallMePopcorn/pseuds/CallMePopcorn, https://archiveofourown.org/users/EldritchBloodGod/pseuds/EldritchBloodGod
Summary: A name was given to him, Sweet Rhys. And he was the sweetest there could ever be.Here he was God, here he was everything, and the Shadow in his mind hissed at all who dared defy.Nothing would stand in his way.
Relationships: Handsome Jack/Rhys (Borderlands)
Comments: 86
Kudos: 162





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> We have been writing this story over the last 5 months or so by planning out plot points through-out the timeline, then attempting to connect those dots. We both have ADHD so it's like trying to herd cats. The main author has issues with writing in sequence, and the editor plays video games as their source of income, and can't disconnect long enough to read more than a paragraph at a time. So we're starting out with smaller chapters to begin with, if only so that we can try to keep on top of things.

He grew up underground, far from the light and a breeze that wasn’t manufactured; Where the air was heavy and thick, crawling through tunnels and crags, cared for and worshipped by the deranged convicts that lived there. To some this was hell, it was a prison. To him, it was home and paradise. It was all he’d ever known.  
  
It was deep underground, at the hands of madmen, where he learnt to cleave flesh from bone, learnt to draw out pain and torture for days if not weeks, learnt to kill and consume. In the tunnels and crags, he played with dead men's bones and ate the pretty purple rocks he found glowing dully along the way. He grew up with pain and agony flanking his sides, pressing in and racing across his body, a close companion unique to all.  
  
It took him years before he even thought to ask after the surface, or even knew of the existence of something so vast as the sky. And it all came from a small little machine his caretakers and devotees showed him one day. An ECHO device they called it, and it opened his eyes to what else there could be in this world. Suddenly he was ravenous for the knowledge it provided, he wanted more.  
  
They didn't let him see, but they brought more and more back for him, even people who could teach him.  
  
These people eventually lost their minds, just like the convicts who've cared for him all this time, they became as loyal as the others. Using the memories retained from their sanity to bring others here to teach him. He couldn't read or write anything aside from what he needed to code computers, guns, robots, anything with circuits really. Anything with a code he could reprogram, or scrap and program from the ground up. But, eventually, it wasn't enough.  
  
Nothing was enough anymore.  
  
He wanted to see the surface, to see the sky he’d been denied.  
  
They showed it to him, in the middle of the night, Elpis glowing high in the sky, and suddenly he felt very small in a very big world. And that wasn't alright. He wasn't supposed to feel small. He wasn't supposed to feel vulnerable.  
  
So he was going to conquer the whole damned planet to make that feeling go away.  
  
It took only days to make an impression on those nearby the old mining town, within months his number of devotee's tripled and quadrupled easily. A year and the madness of his fathers and brothers spread far and wide across the tundra. The feeling slowly faded.  
  
But it never truly went away.  
  
He never ventured out alone, his family too worried for him, and never during the day. Unable to handle the oppressive light the suns gave off. Too used to the dark tunnels and flickering firelight.  
  
By the age of eight, he had dominated all signs of humanity's encroachment near his home. It was at that same age, he lost his right arm and left eye in an explosion manufactured by one of the bandits that had flocked to his family but had never met him. They rarely did unless they did something noteworthy.  
  
He had wanted more, more than he had any right to demand, so he decided to try and take it.  
  
It was too bad for him that he failed.  
  
The young god was alive. And he was furious.  
  
Despite the lancing agony from his mangled arm and shrapnel lodged in his eye socket, he demanded the bandit be brought before him. Alive and unharmed.  
  
In front of the coward, he tore the shrapnel from his skull taking the ruined eye with it and stabbed the man in the back of the hand, lodging it into the table. He glared at him with his remaining glowing eye, the blood oozing from his empty eye socket not bothering him even with the nerves exposed to the dry air. Without flinching, he took a large buzz axe and cut through the torn remains of his arm, he never looked away from the shell-shocked man.  
  
He grinned at him with bloody teeth and ate his own ruined flesh he had severed with his own hands. He even tore the eye lodged on the shrapnel in the man's hand, popping it in his mouth, chewing it thoughtfully. The man looked ready to keel over any minute.  
  
Good.  
  
"Now, yer in a bit o'va kerfuffle. Ya tried ta kill me, an I don’ take lightly ta tha', ya know? Bu' dun worry, I know jus' da thing ta make it up ta me." His words were garbled, half from the pain racing through him and half from munching on his own flesh. His torture lasted weeks; he ate him bit by bit as his wounds healed and scarred over. Everyone under his command heard the rumours, truth spilling from the lips of his fathers and brothers, and somehow the tales were tamer than what had actually happened.  
  
A name was given to him, Sweet Rhys. And he was the sweetest there could ever be.


	2. Blood Bonus

The very first time the man who would one day be known as Blood Bonus the Exsanguinator, the Mad Priest of Pandora, held the tiny child who would one day be called Sweet Rhys he felt in awe, such a small thing brought such a big change. He could feel the child’s interest in the world, just feel it, even without looking into its tiny curious amber eyes that flickered a vibrant purple in time with his heartbeat.

He was not a religious man, but when he looked down at the tiny child with glowing marks, he’d swore he found God. Tears gathered in his eyes as the tiny, dirty infant reached for him. He didn’t question his thoughts, or where they sprung from, just cradled the babe close and made his way into the prison complex. 

Concealing the child was easy, the guards barely paid any mind to anyone, and the little one stayed as silent as the grave. Those like himself, the prisoners, were helpful. At first, it was only him, then a few, then a dozen, then dozens, then the hundreds of prisoners that resided within the complex.

They all followed the siren call of the infant he’d found not that long ago deep in the mines that they toiled their days away in.

One by one they knelt before the infant God he had ferried silently into their midst. None resisted. Who could? Who would?

The little God’s mind was ever curious, and ever-growing, ravenous for anything they could teach him. So they taught him all they could while keeping him safe in the few months since Blood Bonus brought the tiny god into their midst. Eventually, they managed to convert a few Guards and even the prison’s main doctor, Stabbauwitts, to their ever-growing side.

Then Blood Bonus staged a coup, albeit a silent one, bathing the young god in the blood of the fallen. In only three hours the prison went dark, everyone not loyal to the child was either dead or converted, they cut communications with Dahl, and retreated underground into the mines. Away from the light and away from prying eyes. Where their deity could be raised in secrecy and safety until he could emerge grown and infinitely more powerful than anyone who walked the surface above.

The prison above was dead, but underground they thrived. They worked and they expanded, right beneath the very feet of those who would work to kill or suppress them for their beliefs. Before long they had miles upon miles of tunnels and coves; a city hidden from sight, and it was all theirs.

Time passed slowly yet all too quickly for the now religious man, his God was growing by leaps and bounds. All that was provided for him, all that they sacrificed for him, he smiled and thanked them in his own way. A hummed tune, wordless songs, a brush of his fingers over their eyelids, a soft smile with half-mast eyes, a limb being wrapped in a tight embrace. He had many ways of thanking those who served him, ever grateful for the worship they bestowed upon him.

Blood Bonus himself was grateful. His Godlings powers were also growing, shown through the ever expanding marks that swirled across his skin. With it came a voice, his voice, that echoed softly in his mind, imparting not just words, but whole concepts and vivid images.

It brought him to his knees.

This was salvation, this was God. And now his instincts, everything he had done thus far, was gratified. He was right.

Tiny hands tugged at his arm and he went willingly, following his child down deep into the mines, deeper than he’d ever dared go. He followed even as the lights faded until they were barely visible, and he was struggling to see. That is until they rounded a deep set of turns and the world lit up in shimmering purple.

His child smiled brightly at him, his markings glowing just like the jewels he was surrounded by. Something flickered just out of sight, twisting over the crystals, dark and insidious, madness lies in those shadows he knows instinctively, it is something Other, but it is brought into this world by his God’s will so he looks regardless of his minds screaming warning. He looks and he sees the truth, he sees the world ending before it begins, he sees the birth and deaths of a thousand stars, the way the void will one day devour all that exists and how his God will one day return to the Aether from which he came. 

He sees eternity and all the terrible things that come with it.

He sees and he cries tears of blood, he weeps at what his child will face once he fades into the ash and dust that has made him. Then and there he vows that he will make a family that shall endure and expand, all so his child, his god, does not have to be alone in this Gyre when it all comes to an end. If he could he would not leave but he is only human, he shall age, wither and die long before his god does, but he shall endure until his last. All for the child he was raising. All for this young god who would one day rule over everything whether he knew it yet or not. 

He swiped away the blood dripping from his tear ducts and swept his child off their feet with a laugh. Blood Bonus was unbearably sad but elated at the same time. His child would change the way everything worked, he would rule the whole of the Gyre until its ending. But inevitably he would not be there to see it.

And the thought alone was nearly unbearable.

But he would endure, for the child in his arms, and right now that’s all that mattered to him. He ignored the thing in the shadows with its too big smile and too long limbs that watched him with eyes that glowed like his child’s. It didn’t matter. Nothing outside of his child, and the family he would build mattered.

Nothing, nothing else mattered. 

He pressed his nose into his child’s long hair and breathed in the scent of blood, stardust, and something uniquely ascendent. The shadowy whispers receded for the moment and Blood Bonus began the trek back to the main dwellings, chasing away bad thoughts and maddening knowledge away with the weight in his arms, and the questions God placed in his mind to answer.

Pandora would submit, or it would burn, he knew that much in his heart of hearts. He would help with a grin on his face and fire in his eyes, an axe at the ready and glee in his heart. Nothing would stand in their way. 

Nothing.

All for the child he held so close to his heart. He smiled and pressed a kiss into the crown of his son's head, and started the arduous yet joyful task of answering the questions Blood Bonus had been bombarded with. His voice was whispery hoarse as he spoke, holding God’s rapt attention.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next post shall be the 1st of February, cuz we need time to edit the coming chapters.


	3. Mad Moxxi

Moxxi liked to know what was going on around Pandora, and it didn’t take long for the rumours of a new Bandit clan raising in the west to reach her. The information, of course, was out of date. Which would not do, not at all. 

She was quick to ECHO one of her contacts, Jones, to see if they knew any more about the situation then what she was hearing. Because nothing good could come out of outdated information about a large bandit clan that just seemed to keep growing and made no motion of stopping any time soon, and had no definable leader. Which was concerning in and of itself. Bandits don’t just join together cohesively for no apparent reason. 

Her contact was living in the far west, and was an old friend of hers, he would have more up to date gossip than she would. His information was solid, for the right price of course.

And she hoped someone had crushed this clan already…

If not there may be quite the problem rising on Pandora.

“Hey there, sugar,” she crooned into her ECHO. “I got a few questions about some rumours I’ve been hearing about a bandit clan causing problems out your way. Care to give a girl some answers?”

“Well, I know exactly which one you’re talking about, unfortunately. It’s called ‘The Family’, bunch a’ fucking fanatics. Cannibalistic, religious, fucking fanatics down to the last. Hierarchy beyond the leader is anyone’s guess. The head goes by ‘Sweet Rhys’, and I only just managed to find out his name. He’s somehow gotten a terrifying rep out this way without one so far. Word is he’s worshipped like a god by his ‘Family’. His word is fucking Gospel to them. They all believe what they’re spewing too. Got a lot of bandit’s riding their coattails, used as cannon fodder til they get noticed and drawn into the main circle of the ‘Family’.”

“I see. What can you tell me about this ‘Sweet Rhys’, sugar?” She purred, trying to find out more about this enigmatic leader that had managed so much in so little time. “What’s this man like?” 

“Other than rumours? I got nothin’, Moxx. The man’s a ghost. Whatever compound he’s in, gets locked down immediately; ‘Family’ only. Those not ‘Family’ either come out as fanatic as the rest or don’t come out at all.” She heard the man’s gusty, shaky, exhale. He sounded exhausted and very shaken, on the verge of breaking down from the stress of this mess alone. He was normally unflappable, what else was going on that had him running scared? “No one’s seen him face to face, not outsiders at any rate, and never without that skull mask of his. Which I’m pretty sure is an actual skull.” The man signed again, and the sound of hair being played with, crackled through the connection. “No one’s gotten close enough to verify, either.”

“There’s plenty of rumours, both bizarre and understated. I’ve taken a long time trying to parse out what I can from them. And fuck, I’m tempted to either head as far East as East can get, or offer myself to the Crimson Lance, who want Sweet Rhys and his Family dead, just to get away from all this. Sweet Rhys and his ‘Family’ are expanding, rapidly, and holding all the territory they take. Integrating or eliminating anyone they come across systematically. He’s smarter than any bandit I’ve ever come across. Not only does he have some sort of master plan, he’s sticking to it. He’s using all the tools he’s got to achieve his goals, though it’s sounding like fear is his favorite. And the bodies… The bodies they leave behind them Moxx… fucking broken skeletons and petrified mummies. I don’t know how they’re doing it.”

“How large is the Clan now, darling?”

“That’s the problem Moxxi, bandits are flocking to this clan in droves every day, it just keeps growing. Everyone is scared or in awe so they join for the protection Sweet Rhys and his Family offer. There are a few clans, probably terrified out of their wits or senselessly angry, are banding together with the Crimson Lance to try and eliminate the threat the ‘Family’ represent… and honestly, I don’t know if they’ll succeed. And that scares me.”

Pandora had a problem. 

And she wasn’t sure how to solve it this time around.


	4. Kreig

Krieg was losing all track of time, and possibly even reality at the rate he was going, for all the good that it did him to grasp that particular concept. His mind was decaying under the ministrations of the scientists who had ahold of him, his sanity was being eroded like limestone under a torrent of salt water, it was disappearing and nothing was going to save it. He was losing himself, bit by bit, shred by shred. Fading away under the experiments and torture that he had been submitted to, was still being forced to endure. He would cry for his woes, for his loss, but he’s not sure he has the capacity anymore.

The doctors, if they could be called that, had no mercy in their hearts for anyone or any thing anymore. All that concerned them was the results of their experimentation so they could better reach for success. There was no room in them for pity, or sympathy, no room for mercy. He was certain even the screaming, and pleas, made no effect on them, and if they did the person was quietly moved to the cells and quickly replaced. 

His only escape from this would be insanity or death. He’s not sure which he would prefer under these circumstances, but anything would be better than this horrible sanity.

Anything would be better than this hell he was enduring as silently as he could. To himself, and only in the privacy of his mind, he screamed and begged for anyone to save him. But no one would come and save him.

Not even God.

It was the explosions that caught his attention first, not long after he’d been escorted to the cell he called a room and chained down so he couldn’t attempt another escape, the distant roaring of fire that drew him out of his fugue. He could do nothing, trapped like a rat in his cell as he was. He would burn to death, helpless and hopeless. This fate was better than what the doctors had in store for him, of that he was certain.

He heard the measured patter of bare feet against the tile, so soft, so faint it was as if were a dream. It was his mind playing tricks on him again. There was no rescue coming for him. Even the dull thuds and the splattering sound of blood was not real. It couldn’t be.

There was a hand on his ankle suddenly, small, with long spider-like fingers curling possessively around his once fragile bones. The locked manacles around his wrists sprang free at the same time as the ones just above his ankles. He was quick to sit up, but vertigo hit like a freight train and sent him toppling to the floor at the blood stained feet of whoever had freed him.

“ _ Your name is Krieg, right? I heard you calling, I heard you screaming. _ ” An arm wrapped around his head delicately after he sat up, guiding it to lay on a thin bony chest. He was hearing voices again, in his head, but he’d never heard this one before. Calm and melodic, hypnotic and trance like. It's what he imagined a mother's voice might sound like as she soothed her distraught child. This was just a dream, it had to be. No one was coming to save him. “ _ I’m sorry I could not get here sooner. I’m here for you now. You called out for someone to save you. You thought even God had abandoned you, but I am here. I heard you and I have come. I am here, you are safe now. _ ”

“This is just a dream.” He muttered out of spite to the spectre of his dwindling sanity even if he wanted to believe this was real.

“ _ Hush, sleep and when you wake you’ll be free from this nightmare. _ ”

Krieg did as the red-painted phantom asked and slept, slumping his full, mutated, weight onto the thin body cradling him. Letting whoever his mind had conjured pet his hair and soothe him into sleep. He’d be dead by morning from smoke inhalation if the fire didn’t get to him first. 

This would all be over soon enough.

He dreamt of safety and peace, for the first time in a very long time. 

-

Waking up had never been so disorienting before. For the first time in a very long time, Krieg woke up on a soft patchwork bed of pillows, in a room not sterile white and smelling like antiseptic. It was dark, with only flickering firelight to see by, smelling strongly of blood, leather and something he couldn’t quite place but was soothing never the less. His head was pillowed on someone’s well muscled thighs and long claw-like fingers slowly brushing through his hair. There was a humming and crooning noise that echoed strangely but comforted his whirling thoughts.

He was alive.

Idly he looked around the room he was in from behind a curtain of hair the colour of dried blood decorated with bones, teeth, and purple crystals. He could feel the way it shifted over his body as he breathed, like some haphazard living blanket, but it had a comforting weight to it. He felt boneless even when he spied the weapons, guns and blades of a design he’d never seen before, innumerable kill trophies decorated the walls of the room he was in. They were mainly human trophies, skulls mostly, but that meant nothing here on Pandora. Everything tried to kill you on this planet, even the fucking plants.

It wasn’t the labs and that’s all that mattered.

“ _ I told you when you woke you would be free from your nightmare. _ ” It was the same voice from his dream, whispering just at the edge of his hearing, imparting more a wealth of ideas than any words. “ _ Did you dream well? _ ”

Slowly he turned in the spectres lap, their skin was stained a dark copper red and their sweet smile startlingly white, but they were very pretty with a sharp bone structure and a single wide amber eye gazing down fondly at him. His saviour's other eye remained closed, sunken in, meaning there was no eye behind his closed lid and his long lashes swept over his high cheekbones. He was striking, but also malnourished like most people on Pandora.

“Who are you?” He rasped out, still gazing at the person who saved him for no apparent reason, trying to understand. “Why did you save me?”

“ _ They named me Sweet Rhys, many years ago, for my sweet smile and boundless enthusiasm, _ ” The spectres mouth didn’t move other than widening their smile. “ _ I told you why I saved you, Krieg, I heard your screaming and desperation, your despair. I couldn’t just leave you to suffer. _ ”

“Why go out of your way for someone you’ve never met before?” Krieg trudged through his own thoughts, trying to understand this person’s motivations. Charity did not come without a price tag on Pandora. There had to be a reason, had to be something motivating this strange individual, something they gained from his rescue.

“ _ Because like calls to like. I can understand many, and hear even more. But you, you called out to me with a strength only a few of my family possess. I am neither kind nor merciful to my enemies, I am the Might of my family. I have to be. But you are not my enemy. I think I would like you as family if you would accept. _ ” The bones and teeth clattered together as the spectre tilted their head, smile still affixed to an unmoving mouth. “ _ You are free to leave if you do not once you are healed. I have no designs to trap you or make you something you are not. I would see all my family free to do as they please, even if those I would like to see join my family chose to leave instead. The choice is yours, but for now rest, you are weary from all that’s been done to you. Heal, and then we shall talk. _ ”

The next week Krieg spent under the care of the Spectre named Sweet Rhys who fed him and helped him with everything as he slowly regained his strength. Not once had Krieg heard him actually speak, but he hummed and crooned mindless soothing tunes. Even during the tour of the very large compound, every word Krieg heard was in his mind.

The compound alone… there were hundreds of bandits, maybe thousands, each one Sweet Rhys came across he’d get fussed over for small things: a hair out of place, a new bone to add to his seemingly-infinite braids, a weapon to inspect. Anything really, but Sweet Rhys was patient with each and every one before sending them off with a smile, a brush of his too-long clawed fingernails, and audible purring noises.

He was loved. And he loved them in return. That much was as clear as day.

They welcome Krieg with open arms and a grin. They asked no questions, simply offered silent acceptance.

There was peace here, in a bandit camp filled with hundreds or thousands, a comradery that he’d never seen in places like this before. There wasn’t a hierarchy it seemed, beyond Sweet Rhys’s superiority, just people helping each other as a community. Something he rarely saw, even on the more ‘civilized’ planets.

“How is it I can hear you, yet you never actually speak?” He asked Rhys, whose skin, he had come to realise, was stained dark with blood and remained that way due to the lack of water and his preference for bathing in the blood of his enemies.

“ _ Would you rather I speak aloud, then in your mind? _ ” The teenager inquired in return, his own curiosity colouring the question.

“I… I don’t know. Right now I just want to know how.”

“ _ That is fair. _ ” Rhys hummed, a soft smile on his face. “ _ I am a Godling, this allows me to speak mind to mind with another. My family had to describe to me in detail that it causes discomfort in some, it is strange to think that it would, but I do my best to comply when people ask me not too. _ ”

“A god?” Krieg focused more on that than any other part of Rhys’s explanation.

“Mhmm.” He hummed in agreeance, and began removing the hoodie he never seemed to be without. Beneath it, carefully cleaned and free of blood were the marks of a Siren heavily tainted with purple. “ _ The Marks of Divinity, proof of my ascension. _ ”

“A Siren… you are a Siren, one of only six in all of creation.” Krieg mutters, stunned. Only six, and one was a half starved teenager in charge of an ever expanding bandit clan who believed they were a god.

Rhys’s laugh was like wind chimes and tinkling glass shards. “ **_I’m afraid I don’t know what a Siren is, is that what others call Godlings like me?_ ** ” The duality of the clan leaders voice was intoxicating, speaking both aloud and in Krieg's mind. His smile was soft as he lifted his single remaining hand up to his face to look at. “ **_There are five others like me, interesting, could you tell me more?_ ** ”

“You’ve never heard of Siren’s before?” Krieg was boggled, someone like Rhys, who seemed to know everything, yet something known universally was unknown and foreign to him. 

Somehow Krieg knew, from here on out, his life would be changed irrevocably.

-

His initiation was massive, it lasted for days, a festival instead of the normal quiet ceremonies performed in the past. The Clan… his new family, was restructured, giving him power over the others. There was no name yet for what he was to the Family, but it would be found soon, they all assured him. Krieg was more than happy with that. He was aiding those who had helped save him. 

Sweet Rhys was as kind to him as he’d ever been, like... almost like a mother. Someone willing to put others before themselves. Who wanted the best for their children even at risk of their own safety.

He was as a son, who Sweet Rhys protected fiercely and saved when he had lost all hope. His mind made up, Krieg made his way to his new Mother. Life had begun anew for him, he was no longer a bounty hunter half a galaxy away. He was a loving son, who would protect his doting Mother with the help of one of the largest families to span the galaxy.

A single thin arm curled itself around his broad shoulders, and an equally thin body rested only a fraction of its weight onto his back. The rest he knew would be hovering, curled in on itself in midair, pure power supporting the weight of the Siren at his back.

“ _ What is it that has you so serious? _ ” A voice that echoed through eternity, tinted purple, questioned in his mind.

“ _ A decision… **Mother**. _ ”

The smile given to him lit up the night.


	5. Sweet Rhys

Those who had enough left in them to be properly coherent were unsurprised by Sweet Rhys’s ever-growing dominion across the land. They have come to expect it from the young godlike teen who directed battle from both behind a sniper scope or up close and personal with a highly modified stun baton and wicked sharp blades. He was, in their minds, an inevitability. A phenomenon of proportions none have ever witnessed. 

God, made flesh, given to them to care for and protect.

Rhys only grew more powerful with age, whether it be the power of his vast army, his own intellect, or his ever-evolving abilities. Nevertheless, he stayed hidden and used proxies for anything that required any deal of attention that didn't involve fighting. He wasn't foolish enough to risk himself unless there was no other option.

Foolishness and ignorance got you killed. Rhys had always endeavoured to be neither, he wanted to live more than anything.

His body wasn’t what he was expecting it to be, he thought privately as he examined himself in a broken mirror, his long hair carefully tended to and pulled away from his remaining eye. His single amber-red eye traced over his long legs with fresh blood smeared between his thighs and running rivulets to his knees, to his jutting hips connected to a slightly concave abdomen with defined muscles. His left arm - like the rest of his left side - covered in purple tainted blue marks, carefully cleaned and tended to, his right a hunk of machinery weighing down his body and strapped to his slowly swelling chest. 

He’d adjusted in the barest of terms to not having his left eye or his right arm, even if it frustrates him at times, but this was not something he had context for. This was no injury he had ever dealt with before. Because simply put there was no wound to be found.

That was going to be a problem. 

None of his fathers or brothers would know what to do. Let alone his sons. Seems like a trip to the former prison camp doctor was in order because Rhys had no idea how to treat something like this.

Dr. Stabbauwitz was a rather young man, seeming to suffer with his hair migrating to his chin rather than staying on his head where it belonged. To outsiders only judging by his appearance, he seemed rather plain and non-threatening, but those in the know would realize it hid years of precision only surviving on Pandora for decades with a scalpel could teach. The only remnants proving his former profession were the shredded remains of a once white lab coat, stained brown with sweat and dirt, and a poorly re-stitched badge bearing his name.

The explanation Doc given to him made little sense. Wasn’t he just like his brothers and fathers? Like his sons? What did it mean to be female versus male body-wise? 

It was a lot to take in, but Rhys vowed to adjust, he also swore his family to secrecy. Something like this could ruin all Rhys had worked towards all these years.  
And Rhys was not going to see all he had go up in flames.

The shadows lengthened, taking a life of their own before retreating just as quickly as he quelled his rage. This world would be his, the Universe all but assured it, but he would leave nothing to chance. And if he couldn’t have it he would destroy it.

Doc said he was a ‘late bloomer’ at the age of 17, and went on to describe the changes the Godling could expect over the course of the next few months to years. Something Rhys wasn’t looking forward too in all honesty. But the Doc assured Rhys that his body was superior to the average male, that he could endure more than any other male in the Family, and he was alright with that. He was rather attached to his body the way it was, gross bleeding part notwithstanding.  
It was his, after all, there was no point changing the body of God into something it wasn’t. 

It just meant he was to be a ‘Mother’ not a ‘Father’ should he ever truly step into the light, that he would bear young in his body instead of planting life into another. He would have to find a male who could handle the title of ‘Father’ though, someone strong and uncompromising like Rhys himself. Brutal, vicious, and cruel. It would be a long search, but he had time. 

He had nothing but time and an indomitable will.

But some of the comments of his brothers, and the new parts of his family who’re referred to as ‘Son’s’ made more sense now when they called out to him on the field amidst battle. It was an interesting idea, but Rhys wouldn’t even entertain the thought until his power base was unquestionable. 

He would not risk weakness. 

He would not risk his family.

His family was everything.


	6. Mad Moxxi

Moxxi combed through her contacts, trying to glean more on the enigmatic Sweet Rhys, posing questions they had never thought to have an answer for but did nevertheless. His rapid expansion, in just the last year, was daunting. That was discluding the expansion of his territories before his name became known to anyone caring to listen. But the rumours of him fighting toe to toe with Commandant Steele were even more terrifying, especially when the Crimson Lance confirms them as truth.

They spoke of a svelte figure, stained in red, who lurked on the peripherals of battle favouring wickedly shaped daggers made of metal and bone, and lightning bolt electricity directed without caution yet with no backlash. He had been far from battle, in the beginning, killing with what could only be an overpowered sniper rifle, every shot precise, every death brutal in its efficiency and entirely merciless. They supposed he’d run out of bullets, or that the battle wasn’t going as well as he would have liked, or maybe he just felt like having blood soak through to his bones, so he came down from his high tower to turn the tides.

And turn the tide he did.

The battle went from a scattered free-for-all to focused chaos. Pockets of single fighters, very typical of bandit clans, began to work together as well trained units, working cohesively with one another. Instead of ceaselessly throwing themselves at their enemies they forwent their original strategy of brute strength, and they gained a… cunning, sly edge to them that they’d never had before. The Family went from screaming orders to unsettling silence, as one whispered face, whiter than snow floated through the field. It seemed like they had collectively given up and Atlas had won.

Oh, but that was far from the case.

Sweet Rhys had slipped onto the field, unseen, unnoticed, they explained, he had been just another bandit dressed in a blood-stained black hoodie and prisoner's garb with a human skull painted gold firmly affixed to his face. The blades he had weren’t special, nor was the buzz axe he carried. Just another bandit. Just another Psycho. Just more cannon fodder.

They were wrong. 

He’d been nimble and swift, they described, twisting and contorting his body at whim. The reach of one arm far longer than the other, and more powerful, ‘mutated’ they muttered. Their numbers began dropping like flies from the Stalker-like tactics he and his own were suddenly employing. Appearing and disappearing into the shadows as they struck out, killing and maiming with every strike.

It was the Commandant who’d singled him out. 

She went for him, seeing as he’d been hanging back, only darting in if he was certain he could make a kill, or if it was to save the life of one of his own. He’d been more contained, smarter than the rest. That was when they saw the electricity.

A modified stun baton, amped up to the max, with currents of searing heat arcing off of it audibly. Singing through the air and scorching everything it touched.

Sweet Rhys had no problem with tapping the weapon onto steel struts, support beams, or even the metal flooring that covered certain areas, sending electricity arcing through the room, lancing through their people but never his own. He’d danced through the danger, and struck over and over and over and over again. Never stopping, never ceasing.

It had been terrifying.

But just as quickly as he’d come he’d retreated with the rest of his Clan. As if he’d been no more than smoke in the wind. As if he hadn’t just gone head to head with one of the most terrifying women on the planet and come out the other side alive and miraculously unharmed.

This was one of the only confirmed stories regarding ‘Sweet Rhys’. 

Others came in the form of the locked-down compounds where people went in but not everyone came out (except as new members of the ‘Family’), torture, cannibalism, and his uncanny intelligence with near prophetic predictions were all confirmed by numerous outside sources. Even the strange fact that there seemed to be no women within the fighting force of the ‘Family’. 

There were several absurd rumours as well, mostly coming from the surrounding towns. Ranging from vampirism, to being an Eridian, even ‘Sweet Rhys’ being the cause for the increase of Psychos around Pandora. There were so many rumours, and far too few that made any sense.

She didn’t like this. She couldn’t get anyone close enough, not without them being killed for some reason or another. How Sweet Rhys was finding them, or how he was dealing with them was a complete mystery. But she was losing her people rapidly. Each one vanishing without a trace.

His words were communicated by his ‘Father’s or ‘Brother’s, even these so-called ‘Son’s that were slowly gaining ground. But not once, unless it was a battle, did Sweet Rhys ever show himself. To his ‘Family’, his word was Gospel and Truth, and his family spread it through the walking bibles, called Blood Coats, who’d leave on Pilgrimage to do as bid, presumably. And they made sure everyone heard what they had to say, but for reasons unknown, they never forced their belief on others.

One in particular once told her when he passed through, “You may not believe now, Miss Moxxi, but you cannot deny he has accomplished more than any before him. And he will do even more as his powers, and our family, grows. You will understand one day. Just you wait, Miss Moxxi, just wait and see.”


	7. Sweet Rhys

Commandant Steele of the Crimson Lance was a thorn in Rhys’s side, increasingly irritating him the longer she remained alive. It seemed, somehow, one of the bandits clinging to the edges of his family let slip his name. Or perhaps Moxxi’s spies had ‘just happened’ to let it slip, or perhaps she did herself as she is to do. 

Regardless of what actually happened, the consequences were making themselves known. Steele was tearing through his outposts and camps at an alarming rate looking for him. Looking to kill him for his opposition of Atlas’s tenuous rule over Pandora, as if a single woman could kill a God.

She was killing his family; His fathers, his brothers, his sons! All who put their faith and trust in him. All who submitted to his rule. She was taking them from him!

Internally, the shadows of his mind thrashed and raged. They wanted her dead, perhaps even more than he did. It was in the jagged glass and broken reflections of his mind but he could see that wretched woman dying painfully. They demanded it.

And so did he.

She scared him though. And that only made him more determined to see her dead. He had conquered everything near his childhood home because of this wretched feeling. He was still conquering lands because of this feeling twisting in his chest. And he wasn’t going to stop until all of Pandora knelt at his feet.

He would see her dead for making him feel this way, for killing his family. Nothing else would suffice.

He would not bow nor bend to a power not his own.

She would die. One way or another. Preferably by his hands, but he wasn’t picky per se. Whoever killed her he would gladly thank. Then perhaps they would be killed for stealing his mark, unless of course they were family. But he would thank them kindly, nevertheless.

He wasn’t without manners afterall.

It wasn’t until a few very close calls with the military-minded woman did his family beg for him to run, to hide, at least until the threat was dealt with. They feared for him, feared what fate could befall him if Atlas got their hands on him as he was. Fortunately, they had stumbled over a program offered by Hyperion, one of the gun manufacturers with a stake on Pandora. It offered him more than what he could piece together here from scraps and broken things, because no matter how well put together the pieces he created to replace what he was missing, they all broke apart eventually.

It was a chance to get away from Steele’s wrath, and access to proper cybernetic implants. An opportunity to be better than he was at that moment. To advance his abilities on the battlefield far beyond the technological scope he had currently. 

He had no idea how much this decision would change the course of history.

It was with great reluctance that he submitted to the pleas of his fathers, brothers, and sons. Logically he knew that their reasoning was sound. He feared for them more than he feared for himself. The darkness twisting within him would see him through any hardship that he could not physically overcome himself. But without him here, holding them together, what would become of the family he’d built around himself? What would happen to Krieg, who’s mind he held together like fragile glass?

He had to trust in them, he told himself firmly, soothing the burbling hunger inside him. He had to trust that the bonds he’d built would stand the test of time. He needed to do this for them as much as himself.

He was at a disadvantage, at risk, as he was, but with new cybernetics? Ones that could help him hack and see better? That might give him the edge he needed to deal with Steele and the Crimson Lance. To be rid of them for eternity.

And they would never see him coming. 

The ebb of his battle against her would end, and the flow of his fury would begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eldritch is an idiot and nearly forgot to post, and yes this is me calling myself out (thank Popcorn), we also had a few minutes of panic realizing that the chapter was short so we worked to extend it. Hope you enjoyed it, Eldritch will go back to writing instead of wasting their life during quarantine as to bring you some shards of whatever emotion this fic brings you during this trying time. And as a couple of immunocompromised folks, please do everything you can to stay safe.
> 
> Eldritch, the one whose daydream kicked off this fic & Popcorn, the one who kicked the other into actually writing/posting something for once.
> 
> We appreciate any comments, feedback, and so on and so forth.
> 
> Night Y'all!


	8. Mad Moxxi

If things hadn’t been bad before, Moxxi was certain they were now. The years since The Family, and their leader Sweet Rhys, had emerged were some of the bloodiest in the history of Pandora. Nothing she did staved them off for long. No Bandit Clan, and not even the Crimson Lance seemed to be able to hold them off. The few Vault Hunters Moxxi had sent after them had met very quick, very gruesome, and very public deaths.

Much of the time, most of Pandora lived in an uneasy truce with the exceedingly large Clan. But that truce might break with the impending news that The Family was withdrawing into their most fortified base, with dozens of bandits who weren’t officially inducted alongside them. But they left behind hundreds more to defend their territory. There were whispers of a mass initiation happening soon. Hundreds instead of dozens would be added to the ever growing clan.

No one Moxxi had contact with knew what was going on. There seemed to be no rhyme nor reason for such a thing to happen. 

Sweet Rhys had initiated people before, several dozens of people, if not hundreds, over the years. But never had he done something like this, not since his firstborn son, he’d never retreated like this taking his ‘Family’ with him except for the birth of his child and started a mass initiation. Moxxi honestly pitied the woman who bore this psycho a child, she expected the woman was highly guarded, and held prisoner at whatever compound Sweet Rhys was in at the time. Waiting for the return of her prison guard, and likely torturer, if the chants and screams of ‘Mother is with us’ and ‘Protect our Mother’ on the battlefield were to be believed.

An ECHO came through for her, and she wasted no time in answering it, any information was better than the next to nothing that she had currently.

“What’s going on sugar?” She was careful to keep any distress from her voice even as her mind raced. Whoever was calling on this particular line knew how important it was to keep her informed of the ‘Family’s movements.

“Moxxi,” her contacts voice is shaky and nearly silent, “I’ve been brought to meet Sweet Rhys. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what I did.” In the background, Moxxi could hear rhythmic chanting and the thrum of music, he was clearly already in the compound. “I’ll try to keep the call going as long as I can though. But I have no idea if I’m going to make it out alive.”

“Be careful sugar, you’ll make it out of this alive,” Moxxi assures the scared man before the sound feeding through the call becomes muffled slightly, the device having likely been hidden away somewhere under his clothes. Now she had to wait, but this was better than any of her other efforts so far. She could only hope the young man made it out alive, but it was a long shot. This was normally a one-way ticket, either to death or to irreversible change.

To this day she had no idea how Sweet Rhys was finding her informants and spies.

“Holy fuck,” she hears someone shout in both awe and disbelief, “Is that a fucking throne made of human skulls?!”

“Of course it is, do you expect anything less from God?” A surprisingly cultured voice cuts through the din, one she vaguely recognized, but couldn’t quite place. “God is not Kind. God is not Merciful. God is Might. He is Entropy, he is Void, he is Chaos, he is the question and the answer, everything and nothing. Take his Word into your hearts and be Reborn. That is, if you are up to the Tasks he sets before you.”

“I’m up for it. Have been for years, but why so many at once? Sweet Rhys only initiates a few at a time.” Her contact boasts, trying to sound more confident than he actually is and barely managing. “Cept for when he had his First Born.”

“Good, you question. I shall answer. He means to ascend to the Heavens,” What? What did he mean by this? Was Sweet Rhys dying? Or was this a metaphor for something else? Something more sinister perhaps? “He goes to become better than he is now. None know when he will return, but he shall continue to guide us, even in his absence. But we must strengthen our family for his impending departure. Thus your presence here.”

“I’m sorry but who the hell are you?”

“I am Blood Bonus, the Exsanguinator! I have served Sweet Rhys long before his name became known, and I spread his word as bid.” Moxxi had finally recognized the voice, she’d spoken to this man before. She wasn’t sure what he’d done but she remembered that he was a former Dahl prisoner. All she’d gotten from him in their last conversation was a more articulate and eloquent version of the mad ramblings others spew in the name of Sweet Rhys. He was as fanatic as one could get. The First of the Blood Coats of Sweet Rhys’s ‘Family’, even before they started referring to themselves by the title, traveling from settlement to settlement and preaching madness. “I hope to find acolytes among your numbers, but I am here to perform a sacred rite for both our God and those hoping to join our Family in its greatness.”

“Sacred rite?” Thankfully some idiot asked so Moxxi could get more information, luck was on her side today it seemed.

“Yes, you will find out soon enough, if you are up to Task.” The Coat was vague, but she could hear the menacing smile in his voice. “He demands of us, and I can only hope that you shall give freely what he asks of you. If not… well, I’ve always enjoyed seeing how creative God can be.”

“What happens if we’re not up to whatever this ‘task’ is, or can’t give what he asks?”

“God does not ask for more than what we can give. Although,” Blood Bonus started ominously, “we oft do not want to part with what he asks of us, labouring under the false belief we cannot live without such a thing. Give what he asks and you shall be rewarded in turn beyond your wildest dreams. If not…” Blood Bonus chuckled darkly, “If not, the misery he shall cast you into will be the only thing you shall have to call your own before he decides he is done. What a sight it would be.” He sighed blissfully as footsteps echoed through the device.

That meant nothing good as far as Moxxi could tell. You either went into the compound and came out as part of the ‘Family’, or you didn’t come out at all. But she still didn’t have the answer as to what was happening to Sweet Rhys, or why he was doing this so suddenly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Skulls for the Skull throne  
> Blood for the Blood God  
> Yes that for is Me  
> And popcorn for my beloved editor


	9. Sweet Rhys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PUBLIC APOLOGY FOR THE LATE POSTING AUTHOURS ARE BOTH SLEEP DEPRIVED AND FORGOT.
> 
> And we would like to thank everyone who have commented and we are sorry we never reply but we get flustered and never know what to say, but we love each and every one of them. There is a lot of screaming and gushing every time we receive a comment between both Popcorn and I, we thank you for all the support and love you give us.
> 
> Also, we will answer no questions mostly because plot.

The young conqueror wasn’t entirely sure about going to this program his family suggested, but he would try for them. They only wanted to protect him and see him safe.

There would be a mass initiation tonight to strengthen them in his absence, and he had to look his best. 

His Family pressed in on all sides, murmured reassurances and promises of retribution should anything happen to him. Whispered praises and reverent words filtered through the promises, and he listened to them all. They tugged at his clothes, pulling off the large bloodstained hoodie that hid the bulk of his form and many, many weapons. Rough fingers tugged at the bone decorated straps holding his mech arm in place trying to relieve him of the heavy metal, some carried it away gently as others tugged at the belts holding various wicked looking blades. Rhys was stripped completely before being guided towards a large steaming pool, he made sure to brush his long clawed fingers of his remaining hand over as many of his family as he could reach along the way, wanting to soothe the raging storm of emotion inside of them.

The hot liquid was a balm as he slipped into the waiting pool. 

Viscous and syrupy and just right. The thick tang of copper and iron saturated the air, seeping into everything. A single blue eye bobbed in front of him, and he wasted no time plucking it from his bath and popping it into his mouth. The feeling of it bursting between his sharp teeth letting the ocular fluid stored inside spill into his mouth was one of his favourite things in the world as he chewed on the orb before quickly swallowing it, there was more to be had yet tonight. 

One day he hoped to eat Commandant Steele’s beautifully pale eyes, he’s sure they’d taste as fantastic as they looked.

His hair floated in clumps around his body, several of his family gathered up the braided locks and began to unravel them with patience and precision, soaking them in the blood and viscera, plucking out carved bones, teeth, and Divine Shard studded leather. Rhys sunk further and further into his bath, relaxing and preparing himself mentally for what was to come. He had to remember his departure from this place, from this world and up into the heavens, would not just be harrowing on himself but on his family as well, he needed to put them at ease. 

If only so he could do the same for himself.

He needed to be alright, for his family. 

For those who trusted in him.

The shadows in his mind hissed and stirred in eternal unrest, demanding satisfaction, demanding life. It was not content with hiding away who he was or what he’d accomplished in his thus far short time existing. He soothed them just like he soothed his family. Some things simply must be done.

A large hand caressed the back of his head, urging him to sink below the surface of the red liquid surrounding him. He acquiesced easily, trusting his fathers, brothers, and sons with his life. They dunked him under before pulling him back to the surface, grabbing nearby floating hearts, lungs, and livers to begin scrubbing down his skin. A dozen hands maneuvered and tugged at his limbs, making sure every part of him was saturated and passed over by all of the organs in hand, feeding him bite-sized pieces as they did. His hair was gently combed by the eldest of his son’s, Krieg; It would be left down and unadorned for the ceremony.

He finished his meal and rose from the blood, letting it stream off his bare body. His hair was delicately and quickly arranged to flow down his back and over his right shoulder like a cape, it was left unadorned and free of its normal trappings. The dry heat, dying away slowly as the sun’s faded from the sky, baked the liquid onto his skin quickly. Water damp fingers traced and washed clean the blood covering his vivid birthmarks, making sure the purple-blue was fully visible. They were, after all, the proof of his divinity, he thought to himself as they flared a sharp fluorescent purple. Proof he was God with all the powers that it entailed. 

He uncoiled his mind and let his power wash over his gathered family, infusing them elation while soothing the ever-shifting paranoia. The throne of bones and skulls, draped in roughly sown human leather and scalps waited for him, his pack of Skag’s and Stalker’s curled close to its base. His smile was soft and sweet as he looked down at them, his family. 

It was good to be a god.

His single marked arm raised towards the sky, his large wings spread wide, pulling him off the ground and into the last rays of sunlight. His eye, his arm, his wings, all a sharp iridescent purple, even his scars glowed faintly. 

His ascendance was clear. 

“ _ You know who We are, and you are here to join Our family. To be a part of something greater than the single individual. We must prepare. This world is changing, faster than any can comprehend. It lurks on the edges of Our perception, waiting. _ ” His mind focused on the new ones present in his greatest holding, his childhood playground, his home. Fury lanced through him, just for a moment before subsiding. Someone was here who shouldn’t be. “ _ This is inevitable. But We shall prepare for it nevertheless. _ ”

Following his Mother’s unspoken command, a tall, lanky, almost deathly thin-looking bandit wearing pilot's goggles crawled on all fours through the crowds, over them in some cases, towards his target with his limbs bent and contorted. Most of the Father’s and Brother’s parted the way for him, reaching out to brush him as he passed, giving him physical praise, as Son’s lowered down to give the spidery man easier access. The goggles reflected the glow of Sweet Rhys’ power, causing his elongated body to seem more monstrous. The power produced an eerie luminescent purple shine across the fields of freckles on his pale skin, resembling the marks swirling across his Mother's skin.

Within a few moments this spy would be confined in the son’s flexible limbs. Moment’s after, this interloper would be served alive to his family as part of the festivities this evening.

Mad Moxxi all but fed the man to them herself. 

It was a gift she had given him, and he fully intended to enjoy it.

She may have wanted him dead, but he readily accepted the cannon fodder she threw at him in her attempts. Well, except when she attempted to poison him, that put a damper on things, mostly ruining his trust in anything not fresh meat. But that was neither here nor there.

The boys frightened screams brought him joy, and he’d be sure to send his regards to Moxxi for the meal she sent to him. He’d make an excellent centerpiece to the feast that had been prepared for tonight, so long as Moxxi hadn’t poisoned his flesh, which was unlikely given his good overall health.

Rhys drew his legs up towards his hips, crossing them in front of him as if he were seated on his throne, watching as the initiates scramble in panic. “ _ This man is a spy. Sent by a woman who has tried to end Our life before; Who tries even now. She thinks she can cease Our expansion. She thinks she can end what We are trying to achieve. She puts these men in Our view, hoping they go unnoticed, hoping to kill me. But We are family. We protect each other. She will never end Us, she will never succeed. She will fail as she has before, as all have before. _ ”

The spy was carried up towards the large bonfire that had been lit, the crowds of his family cheering, chanting. He was chained up, crucified, and awaiting consumption. 

Rhys’s wings kept him aloft, shifting every so slightly and rustling in the wind. He hummed and sang wordlessly, voice singing through the night air. Slowly his gold painted mask floated up to him and hovered in front of his face. He opened his mouth to speak for the first time in days, mind resonating across the vast tangled web of thoughts beneath him. “ **_Come, my Fathers, my Brothers, my Sons, We are Family. We are a Son, a Brother, and to those who now join our ranks, a Mother. Let us feast now, we have much to celebrate!_ ** ”


	10. Sweet Rhys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If our readers have any ideas for pet names for Rakks, Skags, Stalkers, and even Rakk Hives, send them in, never know what might get pulled in to be used!  
> Thank you for putting up with Eldritch's nearly late post once again!

The small Hyperion base didn’t look like much, even through the scope of a sniper rifle, yet it was going to be the catalyst of a great change for Rhys; For his family. Behind him slinking in the darkness were his pack of skags: one badass needle stalker, Whispering Death, pressed tightly to his side where he lay prone, and others loosely gathered around him formed a sort of honour guard. They would escort him to the doors of Hyperion if they could, but Rhys would not allow for it. He would not risk their safety.

Instead, they would watch over his approach from afar and watch for a signal should Rhys require aid.

Mentally he steeled himself, pulling away from his beloved pets, and propped his rifle on his shoulder as he pulled himself to his feet. 

It was time to go.

He said his goodbyes and set off, leaving behind his mechanical arm and all of his projectile weaponry with his family. He wouldn’t need it soon enough. Determined to bring an end to Commandant Steele and her Crimson Lance, he set off to better his physical form. No matter the personal cost to himself.

This had to be done. 

He started walking towards the small building, thankful it was night, and he had the cover of darkness on his side. It was very rare for Sweet Rhys to not have a family member flanking him, not unless he was in the mines he knew like the back of his hand and grew up in. It took a few hours to reach by foot, but Rhys used it to go over his plans and the story he was selling to the corporation.

The man who greeted Rhys at the door eyed him speculatively as he led the young god through the hallways. He asked basic questions, some of which Rhys stumbled over, such as what was his last name. At random he threw out Strongfork, remembering how he’d once killed 12 men with just a tiny little fork, he’d kept it with him all these years hidden in the plaits of his hair. Thankfully the man didn’t even blink and put it down without question.

He even took the time to explain some of the more gory details of the surgery Rhys would be undergoing, a sad attempt at trying to freak the godling. 

But ‘too bad, so sad’, Rhys was a Mother Fucking cannibal; He knew more about the human body and it’s functions then this little peon ever would. He’d learnt on live human bodies from a dozen different doctors. 

He was a God here on Pandora. One day he would bring life into this world and be the Mother of a generation of New Gods who would take to the stars and conquer in their Mother's name. 

His fear drove him to slaughter and conquest! Something as trivial as this was nothing. And one day everyone would know it. He simply had to be patient.

He had an eternity to do as he pleased. 

-

He’d grilled the scientists about everything from the metal the prosthetic would use, to the programming allowing pin-point precision, to the malleability of the tech itself before his surgery. He simply wanted to know, ever eager to learn about his favourite subjects. Apparently, they took a liking to his initiative to better inform himself and spoke to him at length about everything. They were… eager, he supposed, to have someone who not only asked questions but followed along with their explanations and had a morbid curiosity for the workings of the human body.

He’d be working for Hyperion, one of the few available ways to pay for the surgery. A few years of work and he was free to leave, all debts paid. They flew him up to the framework that would one day become Helios, the eye in the sky he’d been fascinated with for a long time. As they got closer, the more detail became clearer; The actual frame for the station was far larger than even Sweet Rhys had expected.

For the moment he was to be just an unpaid intern, given a living stipend, but this was alright, Rhys could and had, gotten by on less. He would still need to get a roommate, as the stipend only partially covered rent, but thankfully one of the scientists, a one Dr. Nakayama, who in Rhys’ opinion was an asshole, but a competent one at the very least, had taken a liking to the godling, and had sorted that out for him already.

His ultimate plan was to take the first moonshot, or transport, or anything he could get his hands on, back to Pandora the minute his contract was up. The likely situation would be that his time with the corporation would be wasted under the current inefficient and unimpressive administration. He had no intention of squandering his time where it could be better spent elsewhere.

Rhys wasn’t so sure about this... ‘cohabitation’ with someone who wasn’t family, but it would turn out alright in the end, he would adjust, it was only to be temporary. It was only for a while, the blink of an eye for a God like himself who would live for aeons to come. He just had to be patient.

His first roommate fed him well for the first week he was on Helios. The fool had tried to force himself onto Rhys, and the Godling had made sure the punishment fit his crime. Not even his bones were left by the time he was finished with him. The next was found outside of the airlock, and no one suspected that his missing eyes were anything but the consequences of being exposed to the vacuum of space, a suitable punishment for trying to take one of the few things Rhys had brought from Pandora with him to Helios. That fork was so much more than just a ‘tacky decoration’ as the ignorant pissant had stated. Roommates 3 through 12 all rejected or given up on living with him for various and inane reasons that Rhys didn’t bother to listen to or remember.

But his 13th? The 13th had him interested.

Vaughn, unlike himself, was not an intern, but still had volunteered to take him on after the failings of his other roommates regardless. He was an accountant, still low on the totem pole, but inching his way up steadily. He was a delightful ball of stress and petty anger. His mind steady, truth be told, yet something lurked just beyond the rim of passive perception, probably connected to the anger and stress Rhys could sense. Rhys knew that he liked him before he even walked through the door. 

The stout man smiled at him and greeted him warmly despite his swirling emotions, he was also kind enough to inform Rhys that there was a third person staying in the apartment as well who wasn’t there at the moment, but would be back soon. He ran through the house rules, inquired about Rhys’s own comfort levels and asked if he wanted to add anything to the list. The fork was mentioned immediately, with nothing but a confused shrug coming from the smaller man. He was welcoming and warm. 

Then Rhys met Yvette.

She was rather cold and dismissive of him for the first few months, unlike Vaughn who tried to include him in several things whenever he could, and Rhys did not blame her. He was invading her territory, so to speak, he knew he wouldn’t have been nearly as polite as she has been if it had been him. 

It probably helped he was hardly ever in the shared living space, either holed up in his room working on improving his new eye and arm, working long hours in the Cybernetics division to cut down on the time it would take to repay Hyperion, or wandering the half completed station in his off hours when he was meant to be sleeping but was patently unable to for weeks on end. Allowing her to slowly get used to his presence in her life without interfering with it, to observe without interacting. She was a wonderfully vicious woman focused on her career, trying to get ahead and her mind reflected that.

Rhys was justifiably wary of women, but he liked her regardless.

It wasn’t until they kicked him out of work for the day, something about a meeting with the higher-ups he wasn’t allowed to attend, that he bothered to investigate the shared space after he bothered to properly sleep for the first time since his arrival months prior. He’d never bothered to investigate beyond where he could make his coffee, store his food, clean himself up, and his own private space. He poked around the shared living space, taking long draws from his mug of syrupy coffee, heavily laden with pain killers of various strengths and methamphetamines. He mindlessly flipped through a few channels on the television before deeming it drivel and shifted his attention to the few pictures scattered around. 

He avoided looking into Vaughn and Yvette’s rooms, giving them the same courtesy they afforded him. It was the least he could do for the respect they have continued to pay him.

Idly Rhys put his mug down on a bookshelf and rubbed the scars around his arm port, prodding the ones pulling at the muscles of his chest, tracing the way they spanned his ribs and protruded with bits of shrapnel that had imbedded themselves into his bones. He hadn’t hooked his arm in place yet today, prefering to run around without it till he could do some mechanical maintenance on it after his coffee and exploration, maybe also ice cream, depending on his mood. He was still getting used to the fact it wasn’t strapped to his body, nor did it drag down his right side like his former replacement did when not projecting a more humanoid arm in its place for finer motor control.

The pneumonic click of the lock on the front door caught his attention, but a quick scan with his ECHOeye showed it was only Vaughn unlocking the door, returning from work, Yvette wouldn’t be far behind as per routine. Rhys pulled his fingers away from the knife hidden accessible through a tear in his pants and went back to massaging the scar he bears with pride. They felt tighter today than they usually did, muscles tense and knotted strangely, usually this only happened after wearing his former arm for days on end without respite, or after a long arduous battle that demanded his attention.

The strangled sound Vaughn makes has him looking over his shoulder at the considerably shorter man. “Vaughn?”

“Where did you get that kind of scar Rhys? Does it still hurt? Was it from the surgery?” Worry was evident in the accountant's voice, as he quickly set his things down on the coffee table.

“No,” Rhys smiled, finding his fretting comforting, it was something his family used to do all of the time, “not really anymore.”

“Anymore? You mean it used to hurt all the time?”

“Mhmm, when it was healing at any rate.” He turned back to his coffee taking another sip of the warm liquid, his fingers spasm around the ceramic hearing the door click open again, but it's just Yvette. “But that was years ago.”

He turns to face Vaughn, idly wondering why he’s still fretting, if the mutters Rhys can catch tell any tales, when Vaughn lets out a hair-splitting screech. It’s nothing truly terrible, Rhys has heard worse created by human vocal cords, but he would give credit where credit was due. It was a wonderful impression of a swooping Rakk, strangling off at all the right points, as he whirled around so he was facing away from Rhys. 

Yvette cursing in the entryway and the clatter of her things striking the mimicked tile was heard. “What the hell Vaughn?!”

“You alright?” Rhys asked, mildly concerned, but still dancing his de-clawed fingers across his scars. The emotions coming from Vaughn were confusing, mostly consisting of embarrassment, mortification and surprise, a very peculiar mix that Rhys didn’t understand. “I didn’t realise you could reach that kind of pitch, so that must have hurt.”

“For once I have to agree with the bean pole, what the hell happened?” Yvette spoke striding in confidently before stopping and shooting a double-take at Rhys, a bizarre combination of surprise and disbelief in her gaze. “The fuck?”

Rhys cocked his head to the side like a curious animal, wondering why his roommates were acting so strange. Sometimes humans outside of his family made absolutely no sense. Honestly, it's like they exuded such things to confuse him intentionally. He tapped his growing nails against the thick ridge of carved human bone piercing through his nipple before pursing his lips and asking “Are you both alright? You’re acting strangely.”

“Rhys…” Yvette glared at him before asking a very strange question, “Where the hell is your shirt?”

“In my room, why?”

Yvette nodded, and walked to the hall closet pulling out one of his softer sweaters. “Put this on then we’ll talk.”

Rhys stared at the sweater not wanting to have the fabric rubbing over his sensitive marks and scars, but agreed because Yvette’s emotions were firm on the matter. Idly he longed for the mix of Stalker Venom and local plants that he’d used back on Pandora to combat the over sensitivity as he pulled it on. Already it played havoc on his senses and irritated his skin.

They saw his discomfort, but didn’t understand it, though Vaughn seemed ready to ask. He tried to divine what their issues were from emotion alone, respecting them enough not to dive right into their thoughts to find out what he wanted.

“Why did I have to put a sweater on? And what do you want to talk about?”

“Right, fuck, I’m too sober for this.” Yvette muttered. “First off, new house rule, no one wanders around without a shirt on unless it’s an emergency. No rippling abs or nipples on display.”

He nodded slowly as he grimaced, pressing his fingers into the marks swirling directly over his heart which were pitted from the shrapnel he’d had to remove years ago, trying to make the discomfort and pain go away through pressure alone. It only ever took the slightest bit of the edge off, never any more than that. The creme on his skin was said to help, but it did little more than the pressure did in the end.

He truly was missing his home remedy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blood for the Blood God!  
> Skulls for The Skull Throne!  
> And Popcorn for the editor!


	11. Yvette

Normally Yvette enjoyed watching people squirm, but something wasn’t right about the way Rhys was wriggling under her gaze. It was the way his gaze was flitting and the grimace pulled at his well defined lips. She looked trying to figure out what was bothering him and watched as he pressed his fingers hard into one of the scars she’d caught a glimpse of. Suddenly his wandering around without a top made much more sense. He was in pain, or at least an incredible amount of discomfort at having something rubbing against the old atrophic tissue that tore over his right side grotesquely. Secondly it was like he didn’t understand the intention behind the new rule. 

She braved the question on her mind, wanting confirmation for the theories her mind was spawning. Some made more sense than others, but there was nothing concrete until Rhys confirmed them.

“Can you tell us what happened to you? Those scars are old, and they don’t look like they healed right.”

“It was an attack, I got caught in an explosion.”

“Shit, that’s why you went to Hyperion for surgery right? To get a new arm?” Yvette inquired, calmly, trying to parse out Rhys’s reasonings for keeping quiet about something so important.

“And the eye, the attack took both and I was forced to remove them in order to save my life. Easy decision really.” He finally seemed to catch on to what she was saying after a moment, proving he was indeed far smarter than his vapid smile belied. “But it’s been a long time, and I learnt a harsh lesson on who to trust.” Heavy and truthful coming from a man who’s very smile had Yvette seeing and jumping at shadows expecting something, anything, to come leaping out at her. Anyone who could smile that vapidly sweet yet have every single one of her fine honed instincts screaming was worth keeping an eye on. “It's all a matter of perspective.”

“Right,” she rubbed her temples, trying to comprehend what he went through, shit like that hardly happened on the more civilized planets like the one she and Vaughn had been born on. “just… keep your clothes on please? And tell us when something is bothering you, like right now, you’re in pain aren’t you?”

He eyed her silently for a moment, a gleam in his mismatched eyes that set off warning bells in her head, before answering honestly again. “Pain, no. Discomfort, yes. The topical cream that’s supposed to help doesn’t and I am missing my home remedy very acutely at this point. What I can get here doesn’t work even a fraction as well as what I used to use.”

“I’ll see what I can find, I have a few… favours I can call in down at R&D. And Rhys?” She waited for his expression to sharpen as it landed on her. “Don’t hide things like this from us again, please. We’re in this together.”

Yvette watched his eyes go wide, a curious gleam in them that she couldn’t define. But his smile softened, looking far more genuine than any she’d seen from him so far, and he nodded. “Of course, like family right?”

“Exactly!” Vaughn piped up, suddenly hyperactive. “Like family, bro.”

“I can do family.”

“Good, this means I can berate you as much as I want now as the eldest in this family of ours.” Yvette bragged, watching closely as Rhys’s expression shifted and how he relaxed. That saccharine smile disappeared and faded into something more natural and fond. 

Good, Yvette had been right that smile was a warning, or defence mechanism of some sort. Whatever had happened to cause its creation, Yvette was pretty sure she didn’t want to know. And she was even more sure that she didn’t want to know the intentions behind it.

So long as that smile wasn’t directed at her she could deal with anything else Rhys threw at her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chappy with a late posting.   
> Sorry!


	12. Not an Update

Aight! 

I love you all and I'm sorry to not have updated in about a month. I've been on an accidental 3-week vacation over at Popcorn's place helping them clean and set up for the new pet Rattos. I just got back this week and spent most of prepping to deal with my very mentally straining family for a day. Which was today and its been a very long day. Thank you all so much for the love and support, and even checking in on us. Just seeing the comments helped bring me out of my... let's call it funk for now, and put me in a brighter mood. 

Good news is there will be a new chapter out next week, and maybe the week after to make up for the unexpected leave of absence, then it's back on schedule! So you'll get three chapters in a row then it's back to normal.

Popcorn appreciates all your love and is very sorry for disappearing so suddenly.

The Ratties also wish to thank you for your patience.

See you next week!  
Eldritch, Popcorn, and the Mischief Pantheon~


	13. Sweet Rhys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ITS LATEEEEEEEE ELDRITCH IS SORRY ITS BEEN A WEEK BUT ITS HEEERRRRREEEEEEE!!!!!!

Rhys stared at the small screen projecting a single red-headed woman off his palm and his eye still streaming the data for him to read, mind blank for the first time since he’d left his home behind him, his sweet smile absent and expression showing nothing. The darkness of his mind broiled furious yet strangely sated. Commandant Steele was dead, at the hands of a woman named Lilith. 

The news brought him both joy and despair. 

He’d wanted to stare Steele in the eyes before ending her life as cruelly as she’d torn his family from him. 

The whole of his Family would be celebrating and he missed them keenly, he wanted to be with them as they celebrated the death of the woman who’d taken so much from him. From all of them. Lilith had done them all a very large favour, one that would be hard to repay, but he would manage. Perhaps she would be the first female to join the full rankings of his family? A sister, similar to how he was beginning to view Yvette? 

Or maybe a daughter? 

Rhys was aware such a decision would have to wait until he returned to the surface of the planet he called home. He could not very well admit her to the ranks without ensuring she would not betray them personally. But he could send her a gift, an offer of sorts in the meantime, a temptation to later draw her to his side. Something to assure her continued peace with his Family as he would not have her turn her attentions into destroying all he’d built. 

And he would much rather not be forced into action so soon.

His smile was sickly sweet and a touch too wide as he cooed his commands to his dutiful Father. He would give her a boon, something she needed, perhaps more than he did at the moment. Shutting off the palm screen that glowed in the dark he stretched out the kinks in his neck and slid towards the kitchen to make his coffee and a bit of meat for the day.

She would appreciate his gift, and should seriously consider his offer. 

He’d leave it in the hands of his father Blood Bonus, leader of his loyal Blood Coats. His father would know how to get into contact with this woman, or he would find a way. She would join them or die if she took his quarry again. 

It was just a matter of time.

He had nothing but time on his side. His mechanical fingers ran over his slowly regrowing hair as he hummed along to the lullaby sung to him from the shadows in his mind. It reminded him of the rumblings in the depths of his home deep beneath the sands and stones that made Pandora, of the bubbling magma that would light his way to the caverns of Eridium that sung to him as he walked along their jagged halls. Of the screams, the retort of gunfire, and the buzzing saws.

How he missed his home, but he would endure until it was time for his return. 

He smiled vapidly sweet into the mirror, the twist of his lips hiding his sharpened incisors and serrated molars, and idly adjusted his turquoise collar and thin golden tie. A critical hazel gold eye swept over the rest of his outfit, from his shortened hair down to his well cared for skag-skin shoes. 

Looming Despair had died just before he came here and had been turned into shoes for him, Rhys cared for them like he had when Looming Despair was alive. His golden yellow hide gleamed under the fluorescent lighting, matching nicely with the rest of his outfit. Leaving Rhys ready for work as just another drone, though a wonderfully coloured drone compared to the rest of the hive. 


	14. Lilith

When Lilith saw Moxxi’s name pop up on her Echo, she answered. The woman had been a big help in the past and had become a good friend as of late. 

“What’s up Moxxi? Somebody else need help from some Vault Hunters?”

“Not this time sugar, you got a gift waiting for you at my place.”

“A what?”

“A thank you gift for dealing with Commandant Steele apparently.”

“Huh, well that's a welcome change of pace. Who’s it from?”

There was silence on the other end that dragged out for longer than was comfortable. “Well, sugar, I’m not gonna lie to ya. It’s from Sweet Rhys.”

“...Who?” Lilith could hear the faint sound of a hand striking flesh at her question more than once, without anyone protesting for a change.

“It might be best you come see me and I’ll explain, sugar.” She heard Moxxi sigh after a moment. “Because there’s no easy answer to that question.”

Now Lilith was curious; Who the hell was this Sweet Rhys to make Moxxi, of all people, say there was no easy answer. Moxxi had an answer for everything. So of course, she agreed and less than a week later walked into Moxxi’s Underdome with Roland just a step behind her. Moxxi waved them over and gestured to the modified red chest, decorated with bones and teeth of various creatures, and what looks to be human mixed in as well. 

“What the hell is that Moxxi?” Lilith demanded.

“Your gift from Sweet Rhys and The Family. The Largest Bandit Clan this side of the Borderlands.” 

“How am I only hearing about this Clan now if it’s so big?”

“They retreated into their fortified camps shortly before you Vault Hunters arrived. A lot of people suspect Sweet Rhys was ill or dead, especially since we haven’t heard from them in a while, but I guess we have proof now he isn’t dead yet. Which is both comforting and terrifying.” Moxxi looked dead serious.

“What did he do that has you so shaken?”

“Beyond him going toe to toe with Commandant Steele over a dozen times and left her short about 200 men each time?” She shrugged nonchalantly. “You know, not much?” The sarcasm dripped off of her tongue like venom.

Roland’s eyebrows shot up, remembering hearing about those fights through the gossip mills of the Crimson Lance, and spoke up. “Wait, this is the guy I was hearing about? The one absolutely wrecking Steele’s shit after I deserted?”

Moxxi nodded slowly, “That would be him.”

“So he just up and vanished for no reason?”

“Like I said, I got nothing sugar. There was a large party, an initiation, and then silence. ‘Til now, that is.”

“And what? Me killing Steele is enough to break him out of hibernation? For a fucking present?”

“Sugar, he  **_hated_ ** Steele. Perhaps this is his way of saying Thank You for offing his greatest enemy? I couldn’t tell you, all I know is whatever’s in that box isn’t a bomb and it's for you.”

“Did he deliver it himself?” Roland inquired looking over the Red Chest for any signs of a trap.

“No, it was his Blood Coats and their leader Blood Bonus.”

“Blood Coats?”

“It’s a Cult, sugar, I’m not asking questions.”

“Moxxi, you always ask questions, or at least know the answers to them.”

“Not this time. He’s rooted out every last one who would turn against him. I’ve been trying for nearly a decade, and still have next to nothing.”

Lilith turned to the chest after Roland indicated there weren't any obvious traps, she knelt down before it and cracked it open only to close it just as quickly, staring at the wall for a moment before repeating the process several times. 

“Lil? What’s up?”

“Can you take a look in this box and tell me what’s in it? Cause I cannot believe what I’m seeing.”

Roland looked at her oddly but did as requested by fully opening the box. “What the fuck?” The three were bathed in an eerie, familiar purple glow as they stared at the contents. Spotting an envelope half buried, Roland snagged it, careful not to touch the glowing purple stone as he did, before slamming the lid shut once more. “Isn’t this shit poisonous?”

The envelope was addressed to Lilith in looping calligraphy. 

Cautiously she took a hold of it and opened it slowly. Beyond the dusting of purple was a single sheet of paper. Pulling it out she read the oddly rusty red-brown ink. 

“Lilith,” She read aloud, “Myself and my family thank you for the extermination of Commandant Steele. She proved to be quite the thorn in our side, and we wish to show you our gratitude for the removal of this pest. I am including a gift with this letter that I feel you would make better use of than I would at the current time. You will need it in the coming times. 

“I also wish to extend to you a choice. As Steele was my quarry, and you stole that kill from me, I will do you the courtesy of giving you a warning:  **Do it again and I will kill you myself.** Unless, of course, you do us the honour of joining us, as a member of The Family. Our accomplishments will become your accomplishments, and visa versa, and would spare you the fate of being a Kill Stealer. 

“The Choice before you is yours, and yours alone. Send word through my Blood Coats when you have come to a decision. I will wait.

“May Divinity flow through you and into the next generation,

Sweet Rhys”

Lilith looked up to Moxxi and Roland, just flummoxed. What the fucking hell was this? Moxxi looked like she’d just had a terrifying realization, and Roland looked as confused as Lilith was.

“Moxx what the fuck?” 

“There is only one woman in the Clan, someone they call ‘Mother’, no other female has been accepted into their ranks as far as anyone knows.” Moxxi got eerily quiet for a moment. “If you join… You may be made into another ‘Mother’.”

Roland caught on to what she was saying. “Having a Siren as a ‘Mother’ in one of the most powerful Bandit Clans… it would be a game changer for their rep. Bandits would flock to them from across the Six Galaxies. They’d get big enough to take over other planets.”

Lilith stared at the chest for a moment before speaking. “Well, there’s my answer. Fuck. No.” The other two nodded in silent agreement as they looked back to the chest.

“But I’m keeping the box. Now where’s the nearest... what’re they called? Blood Coats? I got a message for this Sweet Rhys.” 


	15. Vaughn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter brought to you by Popcorn because Eldritch couldn't expand it

Vaughn had found himself quite proud of his accomplishment; He convinced both Yvette and Rhys to go clubbing with him, a feat that had been months in the making. Lining up work schedules, allocating for hang-over time, gathering funds, and most important of all, getting Rhys to stop taking on extra shifts at the last minute.

Rhys didn’t quite seem to grasp the concept of bar-hopping, but Vaughn was patient. He had assumed Rhys had grown up very sheltered and possibly abused from some of the stories the lanky man had shared, and Vaughn wasn’t gonna broach the subject more than Rhys was willing to share. Now that Rhys had gotten infinitely more comfortable around the two of them, and Yvette was finally taking a liking to their new roommate, Vaughn was more than willing to show him the brighter things in life. Which, of course, meant getting black-out-drunk in as many bars as they could physically get to in the 6 hours before curfew, as a team.

The small man practically vibrated with excitement, this was going to be great!

He smiled at Rhys who was looking around the club with his lips pursed. “It’ll be fun, I promise!” He bounced, “Just you wait and see, once the liquor starts flowing everyones going to have a blast!”

“Sure thing, Vaughn. What kinds do they serve here?” Rhys laughed nervously, clear by the way his eyes flicked about.

“Oh, loads! What are you leanin’ towards?? Sweet, sour, bubbly? Either way we should start you off with something light, you probably haven’t drank much since your surgery.” Vaughn offered, grinning happily, not wanting to end up hurting his friend by giving him too much too soon into their adventure.

“Do you think they have any Moonshine?” Rhys asked softly, eyes glimmering in curiosity with a story behind his suggestion. 

“Moonshine’s disgusting.” Yvette stated, sticking her tongue out in protest. “Vodka’s not much better, unless it’s mixed.”

“Then you’ve never had good moonshine.” Rhys chuckled, smiling sweetly as he ruffled some of his loose hair on top of his head that had been growing out quickly since his surgery, finally relaxing a bit. “Or Bladeflower Moonshine at any rate. Now that’s the good stuff.”

“Bladeflower? Isn’t that a Pandoran plant? They can make moonshine out of that?” Vaughn was honestly curious, neither he nor Yvette could get much out of Rhys aside from vaugarities. Rhys nodded quickly, humming in response to the rapid-fire questions coming from the smaller man.

“Drank it all the time, or used to anyway. Can’t get ahold of it up here as easily now. Which is too bad, it's one of my favourites.”

“Wait, wait, wait, you’re from Pandora?” Yvette sputtered, eyes wide in disbelief.

“Mhmm. I decided to come up here and work off my debt for the surgeries. It was the fastest way we had decided on. I also wanted to see how different it was off planet, I suppose.”

“Well, Helios is much better than Pandora!” Vaughn boasted, passing out the drinks he ordered. “We’re so much more civilized.”

Rhys smiled sweetly and turned to the bartender to inquire. Thankfully they were all out of Moonshine, Vaughn really didn’t want to watch Rhys puking his guts out after only a few drinks. He wasn’t too sure what Rhys’ tolerance was like, but wasn’t too keen on testing those limits just as their night was getting started. Vaughn took over from there ordering round after round of drinks. 

It was going to be a great night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with the end of this chapter, it's back to our schedule of posting every other week. 
> 
> Much love  
> Eldritch, Popcorn, and the Mischief Pantheon


	16. Sweet Rhys

Wandering in his off hours was fairly normal for Rhys, a blink and slight exertion of his mind and human security paid him no mind, and the cameras were easy to override, leaving him free to explore as he pleased, whenever he pleased. He enjoyed perusing the more restricted sections of the unfinished space station, curious at what secrets Hyperion held so close. 

That’s what he just so happened to be doing when Dahl’s Lost Legion attacked while his roommates slept off the borderline alcohol poisoning from the ‘booze-tastic adventure’ Vaughn took them out on only hours before.

When all of Helios shook under his feet, it took him by surprise but he managed to keep his footing regardless, used to the shifting sands and rocks of Pandora’s desert plains. He was quick to palm a finger knife he'd kept hidden on him at all times, prepared for anything. But Helios shaking had never meant anything good. Rhys slunk through the shadows created by the flickering lights, keeping low and close to the ground, patient and waiting for whatever came his way. Perhaps tonight he would bathe in blood, as was his right as God, and something he hadn’t done in some time. His teeth glimmered in the low light as he smiled sweetly, perhaps he’d also acquire a proper meal for the first time since before his arrival on the station.

The first soldier went down in a rush of blood, their throat quitely slit, and the second in a tangle of limbs, neck broken. Rhys smiled at the third who went down in an arc of audible electricity and the scent of cooked meat. Three dead in the blink of an eye and dozens more to go. If anyone survived they would forever be haunted by glowing half-lidded eyes and a sweet smile accompanied by an eerie tune, hummed just as sweet as that smile.

It was always nice to rain down the slaughter against those who never saw it coming.

It only took seven deaths for Rhys to realize that they were infected by Eridium, colouring what should have been a pure crimson red, a vibrant purple he’d recognize anywhere. His teeth ached and his mouth flooded with saliva, the hunger that had gnawed at him since his arrival reaffirmed it’s firm grip on his psyche. This was better than a proper meal, this was a feast laid out before him. 

One he would eagerly partake in. 

His teeth tore through the flesh of his deceased foes and he ate his fill for the moment before he got to work at dismembering them. His knife work was impeccable as he removed the most flavourful cuts of meat from the corpse. 

He had a deep freezer at his apartment, buried in his room where he could store the meat for future meals, and while the cache would not be fresh, it would still be better than anything else Helios had to offer… Aside from ice cream anyway. Thankfully both Vaughn and Yvette would never ask him where he got the meat, likely presuming he got it from one of the numerous stores on the station.

Body by body, he pulled from them as he wanted, cutting out organs, carving prime cuts of meat, and plucking eyes before gathering them into the glass containers and large plastic totes he kept in his digi-bag. He even pulled a few bones for knives from the sturdier ones, and many teeth to carve for totems from all of them. Of course, he made sure to gather what was left of their remains into a room once he was done and set it all on fire with a flicker of his powers reducing the bodies to ash and then air locking whatever else remained.

He made no less than eight trips back and forth from his apartment and to wherever he could find the Eridium infected soldiers. There were more dead than left alive, some were intelligent enough to run or retreat. But he got more than enough. He’d be kept fed for quite some time if he rationed properly.

There would be plenty more floating, frozen, around the unused and ‘non-accessible’ parts of Helios Station for years to come for him to feed off of.

Once the former Dahl troops were… dealt with by both security and himself, Rhys still wandered. Hyped from the mix of emotion and blood, he’d even cleaned up and changed his clothes to the standard, fitting of Hyperion employees. He’d managed to finagle his way up to the executive floor, personnel were busy enough with the dead from both sides that no one looked twice at him.

Helios had been saved, but by who no one knew. Rhys was thankful to whoever had done so, while he was relatively sure he could survive the vacuum and reentry onto either Elpis or Pandora he’d rather not risk it. He also knew his roommates, who he was becoming rather fond of, would not survive either. He wanted to know who would risk their lives for Hyperion, it spoke of a dedication Rhys would have for himself.

He happened across Tassiter’s office, the absolute rat. Rhys despised the man, despite never having the pleasure of meeting him face to face. But what he spied through the crack in the doors was a sight to behold. 

A man sat on Tassiter’s stomach, strangling the life out of the foul CEO.

He was stunning to look at, even if Rhys could only glimpse the broad set of his shoulders and the strength in his arms. The low rumble of his voice was more felt than heard, words indecipherable, furious yet elated. A shiver ran down Rhys’s spine and he felt his wings twitch just out of visible perception. This man was insane, completely consumed by the madness infecting his mind.

Rhys drank in what he could of the man and Tassiter’s dying struggles before slipping further into the shadows. He recorded this on his ECHOeye just to savour the memory at a later date. While he wanted to do nothing more than to waltz in and drink up the insanity, he refrained. The instincts he followed told him now was not the time to catch the attention of this man, he could, and would, turn on Rhys in an instant. Rhys listened, but watched, wondering when and if he would ever get close enough to drink from him, before disappearing like he’d never been there to begin with.

No need to linger now that the former CEO was dead. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ELDRITCH SET A FLIPPIN REMINDER AND STILL NEARLY FORGOT TO POST, THANK POPCORN FOR REMINDING THE VOID HEADED ELDRITCH OR IT WOULD HAVE BEEN LAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAATTTTTTTTTTTTTTE!
> 
> WE LOVE YOU AND THANK YOU FOR YOUR CONTINUED SUPPORT!


	17. Sweet Rhys

Rhys found himself liking working at Hyperion. 

It wasn't as upfront about its murderous ways, but it was fun, even a few years or so later. Especially so, once Handsome Jack had taken over as CEO after Rhys watched him kill Tassiter with his bare hands. Watching the man rule over the company as he had, made it worth staying beyond the contracted time period. 

Rhys had taken to making certain he never killed anyone personally, preferring to convince others to do the dirty work for him. Less mess that way. And it really did amuse him that everyone thought he was harmless, even his roommates Vaughn and Yvette, even if they were quickly learning that it wasn't true. 

He was anything but harmless no matter his physical appearance here in Helios.

But there was one person, just one, an ugly slug of a man from Communications, who wasn't giving in to his blackmail nor could he convince another to kill them. That little ratch had enough allies, and victims, either too afraid to move against him, or more than willing to lay their careers on the line for him. No one wanted to touch him. 

And the bastard thought he could blackmail him. 

Him! 

Sweet Rhys! 

A born God whose powers spread like a cancer throughout humanity and allowed him to conquer and devour all he laid his eyes upon! 

The Shadows of his mind demanded retribution, demanded blood for the trespass.

Over something as small as contacting his family safely, if technically illegally. They needed him, they needed the assurance he was alive and safe. And this... slimy grease ball, who’d never been without, never bled for someone, never cried out for a saviour, thought he could capitalize on the needs of his family! Of his Fathers! Of his Brothers! Of his Sons!

While he had no information of sustenance, it was enough that Rhys was contacting someone on Pandora. That alone could damn the God, get him labelled as a spy and sign his death warrant.

_ That _ could not fly for much longer. 

He  _ would not _ allow it.

It was getting to the point Rhys himself was about to blow him out an airlock; If he didn’t wrap his hands around the man’s throat, or rip it out with his teeth before then. Drink the marrow from his bones and devour him whole. He’d been hungering for wriggling, screaming, meat again. The frozen, Eridium laced meat only held the appeal for the high it gave him. This man would go to a higher purpose by feeding a god and be punished for his transgressions in the same moment. 

That is, if Rhys couldn’t find a way to deal with him before that.

Thankfully, one of the CEO's rage-filled murder sprees through the lower levels of Hyperion solved that for him. It would make having the loathsome little rat killed all the easier for him, all Rhys had to do was gently nudge him into the war path of Handsome Jack. He was most certainly living up to his violent reputation. It was enthralling watching the man beat people to death, he was all coiled power and destructive fury. 

He was everything Rhys ever wanted in a partner.

His many layers and olive skin was spattered and stained with blood, his hair still styled to perfection was slowly being weighed down by the life-giving substance. But it was the look in his Blue and Green eyes that caught Rhys the most. The untempered rage and fevered madness called like a siren song to him. It was as intoxicating and alluring as Eridium laced Moonshine.

Absolutely stunning in his insanity, and he was so handsome with blood running rivers down the contours of his face and dripping off his strong hands. Rhys wanted to lap at the slowly coagulating fluid and peel off all his layers, to see if the psychosis that infected his mind showed on his body. To see what was hidden under his mask. To dig his fingers in and see every secret of his mind laid bare before him. His emotions, his madness, his very core. 

What would he taste like? Would he be as delicious as he seemed?

He wanted,  _ needed _ to know, in that moment, more than he’d once wanted Steele dead at feet as he feasted on her flesh. 

Just like a switch, Handsome Jack went from furious to eerily calm and smiling handsomely after he was done beating his newest victim to death, observing the petrified crowd that had gathered with uncanny intelligence. The madness still bubbled under the surface but seemed it was satiated for the moment. Waiting, no,  _ begging _ for another chance to lash out from the CEO’s iron-willed control. It was breathtaking in Godling eyes. To have such control of the vast, sprawling derangement with no help from another was astonishing, and made Rhys want him even more.

Rhys clutched his paperwork close to his chest and stepped forward, too enthralled by the man to register that it may be a bad decision. Because this man was absolute perfection in his eyes; Rhys had always thought he was the only perfect being to exist within the physical sphere of existence, to stand above the morasses of humanity alone. He had to get closer, no matter the consequences. Rhys had a long history of making bad decisions and coming out on top. 

Though this might be the icing on the proverbial cake.

The black handkerchief was relatively plain and well used, but Rhys held it out to the CEO regardless and stuttered out his next words. Actually stuttered. Embarrassment would have ruled, but his mind wandered back to the first time he’d seen this man kill someone, how he’d wrapped his large hands around someone’s throat and squeezed the life from them, and how much Rhys had wished he could have been hovering just beside him to see the life fade from the previous CEO’s beady little eyes. "N-not that blood isn't a good accessory, sir, but, um, no-no need to get it in your eyes or mouth."

Handsome Jack paused a moment, eyeing up the Godling, before plucking the handkerchief from his outstretched arm and dabbed his face with it, a lazy grin spreading across his masked face. "Well damn, princess," Jack's voice was sinful, and Rhys had never been so painfully aroused in his short yet long life, "aren't you a treasure." His mismatched eyes cut across to the others still frozen in fear, enjoying every second of it. Rhys drew from him, just a trickle, and it was better than he’d ever imagined. "If the rest of these pissants were as easy on the eyes as you are, sweetheart, life would be so much more pleasant." Tucking the kerchief into his front pocket he turned to leave, raising a hand to give a half-assed wave goodbye.

With that Rhys was left missing his handkerchief, confused and aching as Jack waltzed away with the confidence and swirling madness that simply oozed from him.

Oh, he was fucked now.

Because Rhys now understood what he wanted.

And what Rhys wanted, Sweet Rhys always got in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eldritch had absolutely no shame in writing what amounts to a giant love letter to Handsome Jack beating someone to death, and Popcorn had even less shame in editing it.
> 
> This particular chapter has also been in Editing Hell for the better part of the year as Eldritch cannot grasp the concept of writing in a linear fashion.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> ~🐀🐀 News brought to you By The Mischief Pantheon🐀🐀 ~


	18. Handsome Jack

Jack swaggered away, content with the fear he’d struck into the idiots down in the Hub of Heroism. All except that little twink, with legs-for-days, clad in a tight one-armed pinstripe suit. The kid was a pretty boy with cheekbones sharp enough Jack could cut himself on, amber-red hair coiffed just so out of his face yet messy, pale unmarred skin and mismatched brown and blue eyes. A really, pretty boy, who had no right to be that pretty.

He had the guts to speak to him while Jack was covered in blood, with that too cute blush on his face, and offered him a handkerchief, stars in his eyes... 

Little bastard didn't seem afraid at all. 

Whoever he was, Jack was moderately sure he pushed that last guy, some greasy pig that  _ smelled _ like he walked out of a meat locker, into his path. Which, if he did, kudos to the kid because that took balls to make Handsome Jack an accessory to murder, let alone talking to him while looking him in the eye after doing so.

Now if only he knew the brats name. 

He looked down at the worn black handkerchief, and in dull oddly familiar orange embroidery, was spelt R-H-Y-S haphazardly, like a child had made it. Well, that was friggin lucky. He pulled up the kid's company file and perused through it idly wondering what it was he did for Hyperion. 

Rhys Strongfork, what a fucked-up name, his parents must have hated him. Because that was one fucking weird way to spell a name. Useful though.

The kid was a code-monkey and apparently pretty good at it. Maybe not as good as Jack, but better than everyone else on station. 

A side note on his file caught Jack's eye. A volunteer, and survivor of the ECHOeye implant, which explained the glowing blue eye, one of a handful to survive, and perhaps the only one to successfully integrate and use the tech to its full potential. The surgery was experimental at best, suicidal at worst. All hooked up to his cybernetic right arm, giving him a significant leg up in data mining. There was a note that he had come to them missing the arm and his eye, some sort of childhood accident by the age of the scar tissue that had healed very strangely, which interested him, but there were no pictures so he set his interest aside for the moment. 

His background was patchy but he was from one of the outer planets, it was expected. No parents, no siblings, completely alone. An orphan for all intents and purposes, which was all too common in the Borderlands. But Jack skimmed it anyways, finding nothing else useful contained within the information docket, or nothing relevant to his search at any rate.

Jack sat back in his seat, fiddling with the handkerchief. The cloth was soft, not expensive-high-thread-count soft, but wear-and-age soft, just like his sweater, the embroidered thread rough yet worn. Patched and faded through time and use. It was something the leggy man cared for clearly, yet he offered it without a second thought to the Hero, and gave it up without hesitation. He brought it close to his nose, beyond the scent of blood was something he couldn't quite place. 

But fuck did it smell good.

He looked back up at the holo-screen, a grin on his face. "Seems Daddy’ll be keeping an eye on you, princess."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wait we have a Re-Cap episode? Are we an Anime yet?!?!?!?!?
> 
> ~ The Mischief Pantheon 🐀 🐀 🐀 🐀~


	19. Handsome Jack

Jack remained true to his word, and holy fuck this kid either had to be the luckiest bastard this side of Elpis or a tongue made of molten silver because he was just coasting through the corporate ranks as time passed. There was no other explanation for his meteoric rise. 

Absolutely none.

No blackmail, no embezzlement, no murder, nothing; Hadn't even slept with his boss to get where he was. There weren’t even suspicions he’d done anything of the sort. There was usually something with a career like Rhys’s.

For all appearances, the kid was as clean as a whistle. Literally.

If not for Jack’s own suspicions and beliefs he wouldn't have thought the kid incapable of any of it.

He looks in on the recent promotion the programmer had gotten. Idly wondering what was new in the cyborg’s life, wondering if that pretty face had changed at all from the pressures of corporate life. He wanted to know what was going on in his pretty little head.

No, he needed to know.

The previous guy in the position Rhys had been vying for, got brutally mauled to death by a vengeful ex-girlfriend who he'd screwed over. Cut and dry case. Security had looked into any connections that the ex had, investigating thoroughly, for once. Turns out, the ex had no social interactions outside of work with Rhys; hell, they weren't even particularly friendly. It was the same with the corpse, barely knew each other in passing. Worked on a single project together for less than a week before returning to their own lives.

Rhys had gotten the man's position with little fanfare being the most qualified for it. And was, coincidentally, the only one left willing to take it after the absolute shit-tastic disaster of an exit from the last man who’d held the title.

He hadn’t even been on the suspect list.

Just a freaky coincidence, with the kid having more guts than brains clearly.

Jack put it all out of mind for the moment, trying to focus on other things. But it was hard. Was this kid using others as a medium to move forward? If so, how was he doing it? Using them to kill anyone who stood in the way of his career? Did he actually use Jack as an accessory to murder like he suspects he did? 

Or was he just that... fucking... lucky? 

He managed to push off the nagging feeling, somehow actually tamping it down for a few months, until Rhys’ name pops up again. 

Jack is incredibly unwilling to admit he had the system rigged to ping him if any new development came from Rhys's life. But that's what he had done with absolutely no regret. It was rigged to even monitor his expenses, but Jack only added that in a few months after he started watching the gorgeous man. How the hell he stayed so skinny eating that much ice-cream Jack would never guess.

No matter what Timbit says, Handsome Jack was not obsessing over Rhys Strongfork. Even after nearly a year and a half of monitoring the kid. He was not stalking the kid. 

Nope. 

Not at all. 

Except this time, instead of another juicy promotion like Jack expects to see when he looks, it’s the biggest fucking mining deal that Jack could have imagined, and this unassuming kid just manages to wrangle it in for Hyperion, right out from under the noses of those pricks at Maliwan. Like it was fucking nothing. Sure, he apparently panicked throughout the whole attack, but he’d apparently also held himself together well enough to pull it off.

Controversial most certainly, because he ordered a lot of people dead, even the ones not involved, but that was a lot of fucking Eridium and a whole lot of zero's it was going to be earning Jack. He looks deeper into the report, going over how the amber haired man had managed to finagle something like this. Because this cupcake may just be wasted down in Propaganda Security as a data miner if Jack’s gut was right.

_ `Bandit mobs launched their attack from an at the time unknown location on Hyperion Base Cadmas at 02:16, where Mr. Rhys Strongfork had been temporarily stationed to upgrade cyber security. Hyperion forces assembled to retaliate, but initial response to the attack was delayed due to severe miscommunication, resulting in the deaths of the majority of the higher ranking officials.  _

_ Under the unexpected direction of Mr. Strongfork, remaining Hyperion forces cleared Cadmas of enemy combatants. Impromptu interrogation was performed on several survivors determined to still be in control of their mental faculties, leading to the discovery that residents of the local settlement ‘Beggar's Bluff’ had been offering refuge to Bandits. Mr. Strongfork ordered Hyperion Personnel to sweep Beggar's Bluff and eliminate the stragglers.  _

_ According to files acquired in Begger’s Bluff, the settlement is located above a large Eridium deposit. Thanks to his quick response, Mr. Strongfork convinced the land owner to hand over the appropriate deeds and brokered a deal so Hyperion could mine the Eridium without any interference.  _

_ Mr. Strongfork then ordered the landowner killed, as per Hyperion edicts, and allocated funds to the acquisition of miners and equipment, by use of Mr. Saul Henderson’s name and credentials, claiming his superior’s incompetence as proof of necessity.` _

Jack slowly leaned back into his large throne-like chair. Kid was definitely smarter than his vapid sweet smile and quirky sense of style belied. Because that... was a whole lot of luck and quick thinking that went into making everything work as smoothly as it did. And some fucking ruthlessness that matched Jack’s own to back it all up.

That, his paranoia butted in, or the product of some very crafty planning. 

He brought out the orange embroidered black handkerchief and pressed it to his nose, breathing in deep; The steadily fading scent clinging to the cloth calming his paranoia and anger, like it had previously. 

At least for the moment.

It was only ever in the moment.

He wondered if the kid smelled as good as the scrap of cloth once did. He sure as hell hoped so; The plan quickly forming in his mind would let Jack know that for certain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Popcorn hates how proud of they are of that report, and Eldritch is still being the Gremlin that they are.  
> Please enjoy and tune back in next time for more!
> 
> ~🐀 🐀The Mischief Pantheon 🐀 🐀~


	20. Handsome Jack

Jack decided to call a meeting with the kid, his supervisor, and the accountant who bankrolled the operation. Also, the head of the security team that escorted Rhys back to Helios after the shit show on Pandora, just for shits and giggles. He’d ignore requisitions for now, if only because Rhys had used his Boss's title to get the job done. 

He tells his secretary he wants all of them up in his office ASAP, giving no explanation or reason. Just get the fuck up to his office or face the unknown, but well guessed, consequences. 

It was sure to give them heart palpitations from the anxiety alone.

His reputation, after all, did precede him.

The meeting was gonna serve two functions. One: Find out why things got so out of hand down on Pandora. 

And two: To see the pretty boy twink sweat and take a real measure of his character. Because Rhys was turning out to be an enigma. 

And Jack never did well with enigmas. 

Not even ones wrapped up in very pretty packaging.

Half an hour later they were all in his office, sporting various looks of anxiety, terror, and awe on each of their faces. Even Sweet Little Rhysie. Very prompt if Jack was going to be honest, and definitely motivated by fear.

Oh, this was gonna be great.

The supervisor, Hambone… Humphrey... some asshat from middle management Jack couldn't be bothered to remember the name of, had started rambling; Trying to cover his own ass. But the CEO only had eyes for the tall man whose face slowly morphed from awe and terror to annoyance and exasperation, though it was well hidden. 

The kid was good, Jack would give him that.

"Hey, dum-dum," Jack glared at the supervisor, forcing him to shut the fuck up through sheer will, "don't care what you have to say, so shut up, or get airlocked. I wanna hear things from Princess here." He waved a lazy hand in Rhys's direction, eyes catching the quick expression of glee before it defaulted back to terror as Jack began shouting at the leggy auburn-haired man. "Because where the frick! Does a data miner from Propaganda Security get away with making a friggin deal like that?!"

Rhys took seconds to compose himself before answering, which was quicker than half his board members, he thought with a smirk. He was as good as Jack thought he was going to be. "Well, s-sir. I saw the, uh, opportunity, an-and just went for it? We figured out why Maliwan was looking into buying the land, and the Eridium is better off in our hands than having a, erm, rival company… stationed so close to one of our bases..."

Jack stared at them all in silence, letting it linger and grow heavier, watching how they each reacted. 

The supervisor fidgeted nervously, tugging at his collar, shifting uncomfortably, and sweating bullets. Which was kind of gross, but whatever, Jack just wouldn’t touch him. Because ew. 

Just ew.

Still, the man was supposed to be the one dirtside, not Rhysie, and the sweat ball  _ never _ would’ve lived through the attack. Meaning the deal never would have gone through, because no way would this jagoff have ever noticed the Eridium. Wasn’t even smart enough to notice what was literally right beneath his feet.

Jack would’ve been out a lot of money.

And Jack hated being out money.

The accountant tried to stay under the radar by curling his already short yet oddly buff body further down and into himself defensively. He looked terrified but made no move to bolt, as most did, almost seeming like he was readying himself to fight. Short-stack had some guts hidden under his nerdy exterior if he was willing to try to fight off his boss. Which, ya know, was interesting. 

If Jack remembered right, this guy was Rhys’s roomie explaining why he’d fast-tracked the approval, and funded the plan Rhys had come up with seemingly on the fly. Willing to put faith in his ‘best friend’ and hope it wouldn’t screw them both over. 

Big leap of faith for a friend as far as Jack was concerned.

The security guy drew himself up, standing tall and hardly moving let alone breathing, a living statue. Not much fun, all in all. Lame. 

Still, somehow this crew-cut fuck didn’t notice the bandits in town and let them run amuck until Rhys took charge. He let Hyperion employees be mowed down in droves and was too stupid to do his job correctly. At least he was smart enough to listen to someone who had kept their head better than he did. Reports said he was freaking the fuck out the whole time. 

Waste of fucking air and resources.

Rhys, though, Rhys started to relax. As if a switch had been flipped, the poorly concealed expression of dread and anxiety slowly faded away, put in a box and shoved to the side, so to speak. Leaving Rhys looking calm and composed the longer the silence dragged on. He hid it well but the faint tremor of his remaining hand gave him away, but even that was steadied rapidly. The look in his eyes conveyed nothing of his thoughts but they focused on Jack with such a single-minded intensity that most would be shaking in their designer shoes.

The kid was gonna be great in high-pressure meetings, that was for sure. If he ever got to that point anyway. This was probably the same face he had during the attack. Certainly explained the glowing commendations he got from the few surviving employees.

Jack eventually broke down laughing pounding his fist against his desk, it took a few moments before he could breathe enough to even speak. Management had jumped about a foot in the air, the accountant tensed but did nothing, and the security guy flinched. But Rhys, Rhys did the unexpected and merely blinked, then adjusted the cuff on his single pinstriped sleeve, like the vague yet real threat to his life didn’t actually exist. 

A mystery wrapped in an enigma.

Fuck if that wasn’t frustrating. Jack brought the kid here to sweat so he could get a measure of his character, but he just got more and more mysterious.

"You guys shoulds seen the stupid look your faces! Frikkin gold right there. But!" He leapt out of his chair, prowling over to the subtly shaking security officer. "How did you idiots manage to friggin’ mess up, bad enough that you're alive but the employees you were supposed to protect are dead? You know what?" He whipped his gun out, shooting the man in the knees, forcing him to the ground. "Don't answer that. Cause sweet, sweet, little Rhysie over there, fixed your damn problems and managed to come out on top."

He shot the man in the head point-blank, blood spattering over his gun and clothes, a smile stretched wide on his masked face. He turned to the supervisor... Henderson! That was the bastard's name. Jack was almost proud he finally remembered. Wait, wasn’t this the guy running the kitten punching ring? Eh, whatever. "You were the one supposed to be dirtside right?"

"Ye-yes, sir, han- ah, Handsome Jack, s-sir." Henderson looked ready to piss himself in fear.

"Why weren't you there, then, dum-dum?" Jack twirled his revolver idly, a smirk fixed on his face. He was thoroughly enjoying watching the horror roll off the middle manager in waves.

"S-sir?" 

"I volunteered," Rhys suddenly cut in. He looked like he had just finished rolling his eyes in embarrassment over his boss’ gibbering attempt at an excuse. "It made more sense for me to go, rather than having him divide his workload among his assistants while he was on Pandora." 

Jack turned his attention back to Rhys, examining him closely, before striding over. His left hand wrapped around Rhys's thin neck, not enough to strangle him but enough to impair breathing heavily, a snarl settling onto his face at the interruption. Fuck, the kid was scrawny. Usually, Jack had to use both hands to cut off oxygen flow like he was; At least with men. Rhys looked him dead in the eye, a feat most aren't capable of. "So you what, sweetheart, just offer to go yourself like a little lamb? Outta the good of your heart? You honestly expect me to believe that?" His laugh bubbled up and out of his throat, as a sick grin seeped out onto his face. Jack’s fingers pulsed tighter around Rhys’ throat in time with his heartbeat, making the grin spread wider.

"I didn't... want... t-to... deal... with hi-his... fucking! Whin...ing!" Rhys's left hand wrapped around Jack's as he heaved out his answer, his right trying to push the CEO away from him. Jack held him there for a few heartbeats, loving the way the man's pulse fluttered wildly under his grip before dropping him, watching the tall man crumple to his knees, flesh hand on his throat while his cybernetic held him up. The venomous glare that flashed in his mismatched eyes was adorable, but it was gone as quickly as it came.

“Language, kiddo.” Jack idly chastises, looking for that flicker of incandescent rage he caught a glimpse of. Because that had been more genuine than what most Hyperion employees ever showed. 

It was  _ real _ . 

“You just shot a man in the face, point-blank by the way! ...And you’re calling me out for foul language? While you had your hand wrapped around my throat?” Balls of fucking steel, there was nothing else this kid could have. No one talked back to Handsome Jack like that.

“Would you like me to do it again?” Jack’s voice was venomous and snide, looking for an excuse, any excuse to feel that slender neck in his fingers again.

“Certainly, but not if it’s going to kill me.” The offhand comment was spoken in almost a whisper, the low rumble of Rhys’ voice throwing him for a loop, freezing him solid, because. What. The. Fuck. Slowly the man unfolded himself from the ground, standing tall in his ridiculous one-armed suit, human hand lightly massaging his abused trachea.

He looked absolutely stunning standing there with Jack’s fingerprints slowly darkening on his thin pale throat. Jack ignored his rager with years of experience.

Slowly, Jack gaze wanders over to Henderson, trying to figure out how to reboot his mind so it could sync back up with his body. Nobody had ever made a quip out of his very real threats. The middle manager looked like he was about to keel over any second, staring, not at Jack, but Rhys in absolute horror and confusion. So clearly the kid never pulled out the smart ass remarks at work.

And the roommate looked ready to cry but was also resigned. So the sass was something he was obviously used to outside of work. Meaning Rhys was a snarky little bastard usually.

“Henderson… This kid doesn’t work for you anymore.” Jack grinned widely, turning his attention back to Rhys who looked ready to protest, as his mind settled down and thought things through. “See,” He snatched the thin man by the waist and tugged him close taking a deep breath of the aroma that had steadily faded from the handkerchief he kept tucked away. He’d been right, of course, Rhys smelt fantastic and so much better than he imagined, “he’s gonna be my PA now. ‘Cause he is  _ wasted _ on the likes of you.”

There was absolutely no way Jack was going to let go of Rhys now. The calming effect the man’s natural scent had on him alone made Jack want to keep him around, the snarky attitude was a great bonus though. 

He was gonna keep Rhys for a looooong time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet another chapter that has been sitting in Editing Hell since the beginning of time.  
> We as a unit will be moving sometime within the next few months, so just a heads up if we randomly go missing before Yule. 
> 
> ~🐀🐀 The Mischief Pantheon 🐀🐀~


	21. Sweet Rhys

Rhys had learnt very quickly that surviving and thriving in a corporation like Hyperion was similar yet vastly different from surviving and thriving on Pandora. He had to learn to keep his scathing remarks to himself, which he had gotten rather good at if he did say so himself. It didn’t stop his internal monologue, though, because some of the humans up here truly needed to be torn down… Violently.

Both verbally and physically.

Even if all he wanted to do was feed Henderson his shotgun while the man sat on the blade of his buzz axe. He kept his temper in check, no need for them to discover he was more than he seemed. No need for them to find out a God was hiding among them. 

But by Elpis, did he need more Shards. The bodies of the Lost Legion only held so much Eridium, and it was never enough to sate the cravings.

That’s why he volunteered to go down to Pandora. 

He needed a break. He needed to breathe in the dusty, comforting, air that made up the surface of his home, just once, for the first time in years. So he went. And they let him, without question and without protest.

Simply being back in Pandora’s atmosphere soothed some of his darker shadows.

What he found not far from the Hyperion base, in a nearby settlement made his mouth water and his teeth ache in a way he had nearly forgotten after the many years he had been on Helios.

Eridium, Shards of Divinity, was growing in droves just under their ignorant feet. Not deep in the bowels of the planet that were the mines of his birthplace and stronghold.

A plan grew quickly in Rhys’s mind, because Maliwan, who was also vying for the land, had no idea how important it was. They would build a facility over the town, ignorant to its true value. And Rhys would not allow that, not when he would be able to eat to his heart’s content if he built a mine. It took hardly a thought while he was meandering through the town, on a mission to help correct the shielding array, to spread his influence to much of the town. They would be cannon fodder for his plot, no need for them to be anything but mindless drones for what he had planned. Now he just needed a trigger. 

Which was very easy to arrange. 

An encrypted call through a loophole in a backchannel of the Hyperion network like always had over a dozen of his brothers and sons creeping into the town.

His new comrades hid them away without protest, hiding the small armoury that was brought with them. They had a week to convince the rest of the town that Rhys did not convert to attack Hyperion before Rhys sent out the call for his forces to attack regardless. 

No move was made. 

So Rhys made his.

And, oh, how he had missed being in on the action. He’d missed the scent of blood, and the screams of agony. He’d missed the glimpses of raw terror on peoples faces just before they were gunned down. He’d missed directing the chaos from the shadows while being in the thick of it and no one able to tell it’s him. 

He sent out his signal, and his people attacked in force. He even let himself be roughed up and bloodied for the sake of authenticity. The blood staining his teeth tasted like coming home, even if it was his own.

The corporate busybodies dropped like flies, leaving only Rhys with enough power to command the troops to do anything beyond defend the base. Human security was more unwilling to listen than the bots, but they nevertheless listened to his fakely stuttered, yet commanding orders. If only because he was the only one with any idea how to move forward and deal with the problem. 

And if he’d taken a few bites out of the corpses, and plucked out a few eyes, well no one was there to see.

Rhys stayed behind, directing his Pandoran troops while the Hyperion Army set to wiping out the cannon fodder Rhys had created from the town. His true people, his Family, carried out Eridium by the ton, using the confusion of battle to do so quickly and quietly. They made off with more than Hyperion could ever guess, and left even more behind. 

It satisfied Rhys’s ever-growing impulse to eat the substance like candy as he once did before he fled to Hyperion and its station in the sky.

Once every last one of the settlers were dead, Rhys swooped in on the landowner, not unlike a Rakk, and railroaded him into a deal that Vaughn helped bankroll. Once the land was signed over to Hyperion and before the money could be transferred to the terrified man, Rhys had him killed. It would do no good to give the man cash that could otherwise be used to hire workers for the new mine.

It only took a week to get the mining operation up and running with a few of his Pandoran troops mixed into the new labourers, more than willing to line their pockets with Eridium for Rhys’s consumption. And it wasn’t long after that that Rhys was headed back up to the Heavens, and back to Helios.

Life was good.

Then Handsome Jack called him up to his office and the secretary, Meg, gives no reason but warns there would be consequences if they don’t arrive promptly.


	22. Sweet Rhys

Rhys gathered himself, putting on an expression of dread, just as he met up with his supervisor and Vaughn. The outright terror on Henderson’s face was worth whatever would happen in Handsome Jack’s office. The man had a nasty habit of forcing his work onto his underlings while being overly patronizing, and Rhys really despised that, being the main target of such an attitude and actions as the man’s main assistant.

He’d always done his fair share of work back on Pandora, even if his family protested that as both the God of the clan and the only Mother of the family, it was beneath him.

Rhys had, of course, always disagreed; Mothers were the backbone of the family, their strength. Once, he'd been eager to find a woman that he didn't absolutely despise to bear his offspring, but that was not to be. He would be the one to bear his young, and men were much more tolerable than women. Thus he would perform the duties of his designation, no matter the protest and no matter the cost. 

He shared a glance with Vaughn, and mentally soothed his agitation as best he could without being overt. His friend gave him a shaky smile in return, not knowing what was happening but grateful for it regardless. Rhys nodded to him and walked forward with his head held high. He was, after all, about to meet the man whose fevered madness Rhys craved almost as much as Eridium.

The office was a grand, ostentatious thing, and the view of Elpis was so stunning that Rhys took a moment to simply drink it all in. The statues were a bit much, but Rhys could somewhat understand the Hero’s narcissism. Handsome Jack had raised Hyperion from comparatively nothing to one of the greatest companies in the Gyre. 

A King in his own Kingdom.

Howard, the man who’d led the security team that escorted Rhys back to Helios, was already waiting. The terror he was feeling was well concealed but it leaked from him like a faulty valve. Delicious in its own right, but the paranoid mania wafting, uninhibited, off of Handsome Jack was nothing short of a dose of ecstasy Rhys had been without for years. If Rhys could be around the deranged man nearly every day, he doesn’t think he’d ever have to eat again. He’d be glutted and bloated off of the CEO’s raging storm of emotions alone.

Rhys watched the CEO closely, and while internally he was a mess, he was smiling pleasantly externally. Not a lock of hair out of place, not a single bloodstain on his artfully messy and multi-layered clothes, not a single hint of what he was thinking or feeling. Except if you could decipher the look in his mismatched eyes. Curiosity and intrigue waged against anger and frustration. A private war raged on within the shelter of his own mind, endlessly looking for weakness, endlessly searching for victory. 

Then Henderson had to open his goddamn mouth to try and save his own ass, irritating him. He did what he could to keep the expression concealed, but it was so difficult when all he wanted to do was drink in Handsome Jack’s intoxicating madness. And Henderson’s blubbering was denying him that luxury.

"Hey, dum-dum," Handsome Jack glared at the supervisor looking as furious as Rhys felt, "don't care what you have to say, so shut up or get airlocked. I wanna hear things from Princess here." He waved a lazy, ring laden hand in Rhys's direction. Rhys hid his glee and only partially feigned terror as Jack began to shout at him. "Because where the frick! Does a data miner get away with making a friggin deal like this?!"

Rhys took seconds to compose himself before answering, trying not to moan from the furious emotions rolling off the CEO in waves and keep his knees from buckling, he opted for stuttering instead. "Well, s-sir. I saw the, uh, opportunity, an-and just went for it? We figured out why Maliwan was looking into buying the land, and the Eridium is better off in our hands than having a, erm, rival company… stationed so close to one of our bases..."

Handsome Jack went silent, his emotions preternaturally calm, watching them all with a heavy gaze. It stretched on, and Rhys began to relax. The tremors from his over consumption began to subside but the artificial calm of the CEO’s emotions disturbed him greatly. This calm was not natural. His mismatched eyes met Handsome Jack’s and he refused to look away. Rhys would not back down from the challenge in his eyes.

The CEO’s emotions bubbled again violently as he burst into laughter, pounding at his desk. Idly Rhys fixed his single cuff link, following the ebb and pull of the Hero’s sanity. It calmed again, still artificial but it had some sort of purpose that was lost to Rhys for the moment.

"You guys shoulds seen the stupid look your faces! Frikkin gold right there. But!" Jack leapt out of his chair, prowling over to the subtly shaking security officer. The poor man was too terrified to even run. But Handsome Jack’s rage was leaking through the calm, radiant and delicious in its intensity. "How did you idiots manage to friggin’ mess up, bad enough that you're alive but the employees you were supposed to protect are dead? You know what?" He whipped his gun out, shooting the man in the knees, forcing him to the ground. "Don't answer that. 'Cause sweet, sweet, little Rhysie-” Rhys’s world froze as his heart nearly stopped, hearing his name, though butchered, rolled out of Jack’s mouth. Did the CEO know who he was? How did he find out if he did? Did he need to use one of his escape plans to get off Helios before Jack killed him? “-over there, fixed your damn problems and managed to come out on top." He let the terror wash through him realising it was only Jack’s propensity for pet names. He was safe. 

For the moment at least.

But his name sounded so good purred out of Handsome Jack’s throat. He had to lock his knees because his legs were quaking and threatening to buckle. There was weight to the way Jack said his name, the way his emotions coiled, sanity twisting in on itself.

Jack shot Howard in the head point-blank, blood spattering over his gun and clothes, a smile stretched wide on his masked face. Pity, the guard had made a good pawn, but his loss was acceptable. He’d been expendable since the beginning. Jack then turned to Henderson menacingly. "You were the one supposed to be dirtside right?"

"Ye-yes, sir, han- ah, Handsome Jack, s-sir." Henderson looked ready to piss himself, and Rhys was only getting more and more irritated with the man. How much of a coward was he?

"Why weren't you there, then, dum-dum?" Jack twirled his revolver idly, a smirk fixed on his face. He truly was as Handsome as his name stated. Exceedingly so, now, with the addition of Howard’s blood.

"S-sir!" 

"I volunteered," Rhys cut in after rolling his eyes, he’d seen more bravery out of the skittish prisoners some of his family kept around for whenever they got hungry or those of the Crimson Lance as he entered the battlefield when their precious Commandant wasn’t there to fight him off. It was pathetic. "It made more sense for me to go, rather than having him divide his workload among his assistants while he was on Pandora." 

Handsome Jack turned his attention back to Rhys, examining him closely, looking for something, though Rhys wasn’t sure what the CEO’s thoughts to abstract for him to divine strangely, before he prowled over menacingly. His left hand wrapped around Rhys's thin neck, the skin-on-skin contact sending sparks through Rhys’ already over-stimulated system, not enough to strangle him but enough to impair his breathing, a snarl settling onto his face at the interruption. His emotions were roiling once again, nearly slipping free from the small veneer of control he had. Rhys looked him dead in the eye and dared him to do something. 

Rhys would fuck his day up if he did more than this. "So, you what, sweetheart, just offer to go yourself like a little lamb? Outta the good of your heart?"

"I didn't... want... t-to... deal... with hi-his... fucking! Whin...ing!" Rhys's left hand clutched at Jack's as he heaved out his answer, his right trying to push the CEO away from him, trying to breath through the pressure on his throat, but not truly putting in the effort to remove the madman. He held Rhys there for a few heartbeats, his emotions in a sort of stunned natural calm, and watched as Rhys crumpled to his knees, flesh hand on his throat while his cybernetic held him up, trying to get his heartbeat under control. The glare Rhys gave him was gone as quick as it came but it held all the fury he felt in that moment.

“Language, kiddo.” Jack idly chastises, staring him in the eye. Looking for something. But what that something was, the Godling wasn’t sure, his stunned calm reverting to the artificial one from before, something bubbling under the surface.

“You just shot a man in the face, point-blank by the way! ...And you’re calling me out for foul language? While you had your hand wrapped around my throat?” Rhys quipped without thinking too much about it. He hated that false calm that settled over the man. It grated at him, put him on edge. It was as if he was facing Steele again who felt very similar. He wanted it gone.

“Would you like me to do it again?” Jack’s voice was low, venomous and snide, looking for an excuse, any excuse to free the bloodlust and fury in his veins, now stripped free of that artificial feeling.

“Certainly, but not if it’s going to kill me.” Rhys rasped out as his human hand lightly massaged his abused trachea as he stood slowly. He felt like a live wire, arousal racing through him in a way only the rush of a kill did.

The brief moment of rest brought on by Jack’s silence was enough of a reprieve for Rhys to no longer feel the need to massage what he suspected was the already forming bruise from the man's larger hand.

“Henderson… This kid doesn’t work for you anymore.” Jack grinned widely, turning his attention back to Rhys who was ready to protest, after a moment of looking at both Henderson and Vaughn. “See,” he snatched the Godling by the waist and tugged him close before taking a deep breath close to his neck, “he’s gonna be my PA now. ‘Cause he’s wasted on the likes of you.”

Did he actually just get the biggest promotion of a lifetime, or was this just a dream? Please don’t be a dream. He really didn’t want this to be a dream.

He wanted to be able to drink up this madness every day for the rest of Handsome Jack’s mortal life.

Vaughn and Henderson were summarily dismissed leaving only Rhys, Jack and Howard’s corpse left in the vast room. The CEO was still holding Rhys close, a wide smile stretching his face. “We’re gonna do great things together sweetheart, just you wait and see.”

-

He was only given the day to sort out his things and be ready for work the next morning at 8AM. Which was simple enough, thankfully, he kept his work area relatively empty. 

He dug into the meat still stacked in his freezer, the Eridium carrying the high he’d once had daily, but was now carefully rationed, and drank his full pot of Arcturian Superblack Espresso long before he had to start. No need to allow his untreated foul temperament to colour the start of his new job.

Rhys looked himself over in his floor length mirror, adjusting the lines of his suit making sure everything lined up neatly. He would admit, he’d become quite vain since his discovery of proper mirrors; Well, more than he already was, at any rate. While he missed his bloodstained skin and long hair entwined with trophies, he enjoyed the way he looked now.

His hair was shorter than it had once been, and he kept it swept off his face, curling up off the back of his neck and sweeping along the collar of his turquoise blue and black pinstripe dress shirt. The slim black vest with a honeycomb pattern accentuated the length of his torso, and transitioned nicely to his skinny black dress pants. The carved bone heels of Glistening Teeth made sure to make his long legs look even longer and his blue-black hide blended nicely with the rest of his outfit.

Rhys stepped out into the living room after one last look over of his outfit and his roommates were waiting for him. They had been panicking since Rhys and Vaughn had been called up to the CEO’s office, Vaughn far worse having met the mad man, but both were concerned for Rhys’s continued safety. None of Handsome Jack’s PA’s had lasted for very long.

But he was confident in his skills, in his ability to keep himself alive while navigating the absolute madness that was Pandora, if nothing else. Handsome Jack wasn’t going to be the death of him, not by a long shot. He soothed their worries as best he could without interfering with their minds, before making his way up to the executive elevators.

He could handle a madman. 

He was one afterall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They hath narrowed down our move for within the next month, they have the next few chapters ready, needing a little editing but ready. They should stay on schedule but may not depending on how stressed they get. Eldritch should either be streaming the chaos or making various TikToks, and Popcorn might just stream it. 
> 
> If you'd like to follow the chaos here are the links to their various channels.  
> https://www.twitch.tv/eldritchbloodgod  
> https://www.twitch.tv/callmepopcorn  
> https://www.tiktok.com/@eldritchbloodgoddess  
> Come and meet us too!
> 
> ~ 🐀🐀 The Mischief Pantheon 🐀🐀 ~


	23. Handsome Jack

Rhys, Jack was willing to admit, had a sort of graceful beauty as he performed whatever task Jack assigned him. It was freakin amazing to watch those long legs in action, swore up and down the kid wore those well tailored pants just to torment him, somehow never looking ungainly or awkward despite his slender height. 

On occasion, Jack caught sight of purple-blue swirling lines decorating Rhys’s skin whenever his left shirt sleeve pulled just right, and Jack wanted to know how far they went, what they were, what they represented, but he refrained. No need to mix business and pleasure after all.

Of course that didn’t stop him from being handsy with Rhysie, the smell of him alone had Jack addicted and grabbing at the kid.

It did wonders for his anger issues; He’d often go home relaxed, and Angel loved it. When she was happy, Jack could relax a bit more and actually enjoy the time he got to spend with her… at least until he had to go back to dealing with the fools who work for him.

For the moment, Jack was just going to get to know his new PA, beyond what he’d gleaned from his research into the kid over the last year and a bit. Try to figure out that scent that wafted off him in waves, and more importantly if Jack had actually been used as a murder weapon. He’d keep an eye on his pretty cybernetic PA, see if he could actually be trusted before he introduced the leggy man to Hyperion’s best kept secret.

A small part of Jack wanted to trust Rhys, but his paranoia was as bad as ever, and that had to be sated before he could move forward with that plan. 

Only a few days into his job and Jack could say with certainty that Rhys was the best PA he'd ever had. He never failed to get the job done, and he was excellent at rearranging Jack's schedule on the fly. Best part was, that most people overlooked the thin man, and by extension, his echo implant, so Jack always had a recording of whatever was going on in a meeting so he could tune right the fuck out.

Even if he always worked with a steaming mug of coffee in hand, meme printed coffee mugs at that, he was still better than anyone else that has worked as his PA.

Jack paid careful attention, but somehow it slipped his notice until the colours that usually made up Rhys’s outfit changed drastically. The teal and light blues were replaced with purple today, as close to a match to Eridium as he’d ever seen it, from the pinstripes to even the solid blocks of colour on his PA’s shirt. Matching that tantalizing peek of heliotrope purple swirling lines on his wrist. He took in the tall man from top to bottom, finally noticing something that probably shouldn’t have passed his notice as easily as it did. Skag Skin boots that graced his feet.

More specifically,  _ Slag _ Skag Skin boots. 

No man in Rhys’s previous position should have been able to afford Slag Skag shoes. He could afford them now, as Jack’s PA, but thinking back to the day Jack made him his PA, Rhys had been wearing Shock Skag boots even then.

How the fuck did his pretty little PA get  _ multiple pairs _ of Elemental Skag Skin shoes?! 

As far as Jack was aware, beyond some pretty fucking sketchy-ass dealer whose costs were out the ass, again waaaay beyond Little Rhysie’s old pay-grade, no one sold Skag Skin on Helios.

“Princess, the fuck is on your feet?!” Jack finally burst out, after a moment of silence, the man needing to know, damn the cats and their curiosity.

“Pain Drenched Ecstasy.” Rhsy answered, not even sparing a glance his way as he mowed down the stacks of paperwork with ruthless efficiency. Unfazed by Jack’s obvious curiosity and demands. As if that was a perfectly reasonable answer.

Jack just stared at his PA for a long while, completely silent, having a  _ mild _ mental breakdown within the confines of his own mind. Because Rhys just kept answering right outta left field, with everything, and it was throwing Jack off.

His PA had absolutely no right to be this sassy. 

Or confusing.

And he never actually answered Jack’s question. No amount of pestering got him any other answer aside from sassy looks. And his answer changed with every pair of Skag Skin Shoes Jack asked after. 

So far Jack had glimpsed nearly the whole spectrum of Elemental Skags, the colour scheme of Rhys’s clothing changing to match. And Rhys had not once given him a straight answer. It was going to drive Jack mad as the rate this was going. Jack was half sure he was coming up with his answers on the fly, because some of the combinations used were so far out into left field it was insane.

He would get his fucking answers though, come hell or high water.

He always did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big move is postponed because housing.   
> Small move will happen but shouldn't disrupt posting schedule.   
> We, the Pantheon, require Eldritch to be here with Popcorn and we shan't wait until they can find a proper house to fit them all.
> 
> ~🐀 🐀 The Mischief Pantheon 🐀 🐀~


	24. Timothy Lawrence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Both Popcorn and Eldritch keep getting distracted by the other fics they're writing, and keep crying about it while they edit Siren's brood.
> 
> Popcorn's reads like a screenplay.
> 
> Eldritch is refusing to write linearly again.
> 
> Chaos is brewing in both.
> 
> ~🐀 🐀 The Mischief Pantheon 🐀 🐀~

The first time Tim saw a picture of Rhys Strongfork, he honestly didn’t think much of the lanky man that Jack convinced himself had used him as a murder weapon. Tim thought he was cute, most certainly, but not much else. He didn’t have that tell-tale glint in his eyes that dictated a planned homicide or lurking violence. But Jack, true to fashion, had gotten obsessed with the kid. Watching his bloodless rise through the corporate ladder honestly impressed Tim quite a bit. It took a lot of careful maneuvering for Strongfork to get this far.

The amount of pure manipulation it would’ve taken is nothing short of astonishing.

Then Jack hired the man as his PA, after he closed a huge mining deal down on Pandora amidst a bandit attack. Tim pushed it out of his mind; The poor kid probably wouldn’t last the week with Jack. Not with his reluctance to draw blood to get what he wanted. People didn’t last long in Hyperion without the drive to do whatever it took to get to the top. Jack made sure of that.

But then he  _ did _ last.

And he did a better job than most at dealing with Jack’s unpredictable moods. Which was a feat in and of itself. Because even years later, Tim was struggling to juggle his boss’s...  _ unique _ personality and everything that came with it.

One day, about a week and a half into Rhys’s tenure, Jack pulled his usual stunt and was having Tim fill in for him at the office. Angel was probably having a bad day, and Tim didn’t blame him for staying home with her. 

And then Tim actually  _ met _ Rhys Strongfork. 

The look in the man’s eyes alone was enough to unnerve the long-time body double. Let alone that vapid smile, just on the edge of being too sweet.

The man was well dressed, in a dark suit accentuated with subtle teal pinstripes, ECHOeye glowing brightly as he waltzed in with a large thermos of something steaming in his hands. He looked every bit professional, even with those ridiculous blue… Where those real Shock Skag leather shoes? 

Then his mismatched eyes locked onto him and the shiver of terror that raced down his spine wasn’t something Tim had experienced since he had first met Jack. 

It was a heady thing, looking into his eyes, one organic, one mechanical, yet both enigmatic and searing. Tim had been assessed, and while he was not found wanting or lacking in any way, he was deemed something unknown and deserving of special attention. He felt as if he were a bug that had caught the attention of a human with a magnifying glass.

His hand subconsciously twitched towards the pistol he never went anywhere without these days.

“I can only presume you’re one of Jack’s body doubles since he’s not here. Will he be in later today or should I move the important meetings that need his full attention for another day?” Apparently, that was all that was needed for Rhys Strongfork to see through Tim and know he wasn’t Jack, nearly giving him a heart attack. He was Jack’s oldest and most successful body double, and he’d been found out at a glance by the PA. Tim knew he hadn't fucked up, so how had he been found out? “Oh, and how would you like your coffee?”

“Now, kiddo-” Tim tried to salvage the situation, to make Rhys believe he was wrong. This was a situation he'd never been in once he'd gotten the hang of channeling Jack's unique personality and then being promptly infused with Jack’s DNA shortly after as more and more body doubles were recruited. 

“Jack, unless he’s been here all night, has never been in his office before 8 AM. The only exception to that standard, of course, being something very important and has pissed him off enough to come in. It’s only coming up on 7 AM. If he’s been in the office all night, he starts sending the most outrageously asinine texts, of which my phone is free of... And you are clearly not furious about anything. Therefore, you are not Jack.” Rhys’s voice was calm as if he were discussing the weather, but his eyes sharpened to monomolecular daggers as his smile morphed into a sickly sweet saccharine smile. “So I’ll ask you again: How would you like your coffee, and will the Handsome Jackass be in at all today?”

That floored the doppelganger, because holy fuck. The man outright called their boss a Jackass. And didn’t get gunned down by the turrets!

Tim was a little bit in love already with a man he'd just met face to face.

Even if he was moderately terrified of said man.


	25. Timothy Lawrence

The day Jack herded him into that little hole-in-the-wall he dared call an ‘Observation Room’ connected to his office, Tim knew it was going to be a long day. The tiny control room was decked in screens, a large desktop control module, and a single plush chair. He had a pretty good idea what Jack wanted him to do, it was something Tim always did when the Maniac got a new PA. 

It was well before Rhys’s usual show time, so Jack vanished back to his penthouse to go dote on Angel and wait for a more regular time to show his face. True to habit Rhys showed up just before 7 AM, giant 64oz thermos in hand; Tim didn’t blame him for drinking that much coffee before Jack came in. Heavens knew how bad Jack could get. Tim knew for a fact, eventually, an actual coffee mug would appear and would have some sort of meme on it. 

Idly, he wondered which one would make an appearance today, Rhys seemed to have a never ending supply of them.

He paid more attention when he noticed Rhys wearing a pair of obnoxiously green Skag Skin boots. A shade so bright and in-your-face, Tim wished there was a way to dim the brightness on the world, but he was only able to dim the screen instead. He felt as if the skag were still alive and launching its corrosive spit directly into his eyeballs, it was so blinding. And Rhys had the audacity to actually own a button down shirt to match, too.

Tim got to watch as Rhys flitted about the room filing and sorting paperwork in his horrendous choice of clothes for nearly an hour before Jack charged in as manic as he’d been earlier that morning.

Rhys only waited long enough for Jack to sit down and open his emails before launching into the day's schedule. Only a few meetings and some approvals, a quiet day in comparison to how hectic it could be, beyond the never ending waterfall of paperwork that needed to be completed.

An unsettling light entered Jack’s eyes before he vaulted himself out of his seat and proclaimed. “Com’on Pumpkin, we’re goin’ planetside!”

“-Wait. what?” Rhys’s eyes went wide, clearly not expecting this. Tim could understand the reaction, as Jack usually went alone. “Jack, I’m not dressed to go to Pandora!”

“Well, that’s too bad, Pumpkin. ‘Cause Daddy’s got something to show you!”

“Fuck, lemmie grab my coffee mug.” Rhys sneered, clearly aware he wasn’t getting out of this. He plucked a mug out of his collection, which was also Neon Green, proclaiming ‘You know what that sounds like? Not my problem.’ and made sure he was ready by the time Jack finished arranging their transport.

Jack wasted not a second and charged out of his office, Rhys literally in tow. How Rhys didn’t spill any coffee he’d poured into the mug was a mystery to Tim, even as he clearly continued working on rearranging Jack’s schedule. 

Less than an hour after they had left the office, and they were already about to land on Pandora. 

Tim was kinda glad it wasn’t him going planetside, as he scanned the email that got Jack so revved up. He personally wasn’t a fan of live weapon tests. Particularly those that had live targets.

They both safely made their way to the base. And everyone stared at Rhys, who leisurely meandered behind Jack, sipping on his coffee while examining the echo screen projected from his palm. Jack had been expected. His two-and-a-half-week tenured PA was not.

Tim eyed Rhys, noticing how relaxed he looked despite his last horrific trip to Pandora. Most would be quivering in their boots, not sipping coffee and scrolling through… were those memes?! How the fuck was he calm enough to look at memes?! And his shoulders jerked every now and then like he was laughing? How? Why? 

This did not line up with the  _ usual _ behaviour of people unexpectedly sent down to Pandora!

When they finally got to the testing arena, Rhys dismissed the screen, finally paying his full attention to the scientist who started to speak about the prototype they wanted to show off. 

Jack was absolutely ecstatic about the new handheld rocket launcher. Unfortunately, he wasn’t able to get into testing it before the base was attacked.

Tim could mostly see the majority of the attack through the multitude of screens at his fingertips. As Jack went forward with the prototype in hand, and security rallied behind him, Tim made sure to pay attention to Rhys as the lanky man retreated with the rest of the scientists. But the Crimson Raiders had come out in force and some slipped in through the frankly atrocious gaps in security. Tim quickly found a post-it and made a note of it for later.

The scientists and Rhys scattered like debris in the wind as a group of Raiders went after them. One in particular split from the group and staked after Rhys with a seemingly single-minded purpose. This Raider was one Tim recognized personally, too.

Connor Lynch, someone who has escaped both Tim and  _ Jack _ himself. Former Corporal of the Crimson Lance, he was rather generic looking, except for the large Lichtenberg scar burnt deep into his face and neck. Jack once proclaimed that he looked like someone decided to use him for a lightning rod one too many times. And Tim couldn’t exactly deny he was wrong.

But why would he chase after Rhys? This guy always went after a challenge, and no offense to Rhys, but some of the scientists looked harder to kill than he did. Connor had the look of a man on a mission; A mission he was going to complete with absolute glee.

Rhys’s long legs helped carry him far from the main battle but he got trapped by a cave in and he was left with no way out. Tim could pinpoint the exact moment that Rhys recognized that fact. But he did the exact opposite of what Tim expected.

He calmly turned to face Lynch, auburn hair no longer expertly coiffed. Instead, it was loose and tousled from his flight, casting unusual shadows onto his face. His left hip cocked out with his human hand perched on it delicately, the mechanical right left to hang loose. The acidic neon green of his clothes looked strange in the flickering lights, his shoes, in particular, looked as if they were alive. 

Which made his false bravado all the more eerie looking and threateningly legitimate. 

Lynch kept his SMG trained on Rhys even as he spoke. “You! You are the reason ----!” Static cut him off mid-sentence. The mic feed wasn’t fully coming through, something must have gotten damaged in an explosion, so Tim couldn’t get all of it, but it sounded like there was a grudge there. “I’m gonna enjoy making you bleed for this.”

“C--- Lynch! Long time no see~!” Rhys’s upbeat tone did _ not _ match the situation, but the two clearly knew each other. Either he couldn’t recognize the danger this man represented or he was covering his fear better than Tim could most days. Because there was no way Rhys was coming out of this unharmed. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“You fucker!” Lynch roared, fury clear on his face. He laughed harshly, centering his sights on the lanky man once more. “No Kri-- to save you now!”

“Who says I need ------ or any--- --- that matter, to save me?” Rhys’s lips curled into that vapid, cloying smile that never failed to send shivers down Tim’s spine, the glow from his echo eye made uncanny in the low emergency lighting. “I don’t ---- anyone’s help to deal with you~.”

“You!” Lynch threw down the gun, pulling a combat knife out. “I’ll fucking kill you for what you’ve done! You fucking -----er!”

Rhys somehow danced away from the lunge, drew his leg up high, still standing straight, and drove his wedge heeled boot into Lynch's skull in a powerful axe kick. Tim could hear bone breaking over the shitty mic feed. Lynch dropped, blood quickly oozing out of his head as Rhys slowly lowered his leg. 

Lynch was barely conscious as Rhys came to stand right in front of his face, using his leather shoes to tilt Lynch’s face up towards him. “Death From Above wanted to say Hello, ---- missed you.” Rhys stepped back only far enough to sweep up the combat knife Lynch had dropped. “Now let’s not meet again.”

Rhys, holding the knife in his mechanical arm, proceeded to sink the blade through Lynch’s neck and slice off his head in a seamless motion. Bloodied, but unharmed, Rhys sighed, his hand reaching for the now detached head of Connor Lynch. 

The camera cut for a moment only to show Rhys standing holding the head by its hair, SMG slung over his body and the combat knife held delicately in hand. The mic picked up a humming noise as Rhys’s saccharine smile remained etched on his face. Idly the blade was expertly twirled as Rhys sauntered away from the scene of Lynch’s decapitation and out of the range of the cameras.

Tim leaned back in his chair, grabbing a good chunk of his hair in shock and frustration. The fuck did he just witness?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aight readers! 
> 
> First off thank you all for your comments and Kudos! Eldritch and Popcorn flip the fuq out in joy every time they get one.
> 
> Secondly, all moves have been postponed due to unforeseen complications *cough* second lockdown *cough* but there will still be an extended Yule visit! So tune in at https://www.tiktok.com/@eldritchbloodgoddess for CHaotic goodies!
> 
> Thirdly, because Eldritch is being... well Eldritch, would like to acknowledge that this chapter previously did not exist and that they hammered out the original version in one sitting for your enjoyment.
> 
> ~ 🐀 🐀 The Mischief Pantheon 🐀 🐀 ~


	26. Timothy Lawrence

Tim rapidly flipped through the various camera feeds across the facility, trying to find Rhys again. Honestly, how hard was it to find one twig of a PA, who apparently had a hidden murderous streak that not even Handsome Jack had noticed? Then again, Jack did keep saying Rhys had used him as a murder weapon, so it maybe should have been expected. Across every screen, the only thing Tim could see was endless sea after sea of carnage, brought on by experiment weapons, blades, and… Hang on, was that a bite mark?

He flipped back a few feeds, trying to find the oddly shaped wound. He must have miss-seen, and it was just a blast wound, but had to be sure, otherwise the oddness would bother him all day. There was no chance it had been a bite mark. To Tim’s knowledge, there weren’t any live animals at this particular facility; Just bandits and kidnapped civilians offered up for cash.

He thought he finally managed to find the right feed again, and quickly searched for the body. The longer he searched, the more worried Tim became. The corpse of the scientist Tim was sure had been on this feed, was no longer laying over the upturned planter where he once had been. His blood was still there, dripping thickly onto the ground below, but no other sign remained of the man, or his maybe bite mark.

Tim stared at the planter, disbelief and exhaustion rolling over him in waves. He sighed in defeat, slowly resuming his search for Rhys through the camera feeds. 

An alert flashed to his side; One of the labs had just been broken into. He flipped to the lab's feeds, seeing more destruction and ruined equipment, but no sign of what or who had broken in. It was purposefully torn into. Methodical. Someone was searching for something specific and was willing to tear up the entire laboratory to get it.

What the hell was going on down in this facility? Did the Raiders have a new ally?

The alert went off again. Tim checked it quickly and paled. 

Sniber Bifle was missing from it’s cradle. 

The sniper rifle was leagues ahead of everything else on the market, even with its finicky VI. Slag damage was still relatively untested in guns, so to have the over powered rifle in unknown hands was a disaster. Tim cursed heavily. Rapidly looking through the feeds to find out who had taken it.

One camera had him stalling in his search. 

A vibrant yellow light was glaring out from a pitch black hallway. He spotted a Crimson Raider cautiously scouting right before a gunshot echoed over the feed along with the screams of the Bandit as a bullet erupted through his hip. Tim winced, because he could imagine the pain the man was going through, but he kept his focus on the small yellow light oddly situated in the middle of the hallway. 

It remained there for a moment before flickering and then  _ moving _ . It grew not much larger, but grew closer to the injured raider who was trying to drag himself away. A figure slowly emerged from the darkness, just a silhouette but it was clear enough Tim could see the elongated barrel of the experimental rifle thrown carelessly over the figures shoulder. 

The bandit was frantic, clearly yelling something, but the mic had cut out so what was being said Tim had no idea. There was some back and forth conversation Tim was clearly missing but he wasn’t so concerned with it, as he was the silhouette that stepped out into the flickering light.

Rhys stood there, one hip cocked and the rifle thrown carelessly over his mechanical shoulder. Tim’s heart all but stopped, seeing the cables spilling from the lithe man’s port. This rifle had fried everything they’d hooked it up to and Rhys had it jacked straight into his head.

Tim felt panic cloud his mind. 

They’d run tests to see what happened if they connected it to a Cyborg or an Augment and none of it ended well. Tim had nightmares about what had happened to those people. And here was Rhys with it connected to his fucking brain!

A flash of metal flew through the air as the Raider lunged for Rhys. That flash was a knife that Rhys used to sever several fingers off the Bandit who stumbled back clearly screaming and cradling his hand. Not a second was wasted as Rhys surged into action, knife flying through the air to gut the screaming man. 

Only once the organs were spilling onto the floor was Rhys seemingly satisfied. Twirling the blade by its ring, Rhys scanned the hallway, his normally blue EchoEye glowing a violent yellow. His saccharine smile turned sickly as he shifted the sniper rifle, pulling it from his shoulder so the barrel nearly scrapped the floor, he tucked the knife into his belt and cradled the gun close. 

Tim had no idea exactly what he was witnessing but he knew his original profile of Rhys was completely scrapped at this point. Murder was clearly on the table if his life was threatened. Tim had pegged Rhys as not being able to fully protect himself, had warned  _ Jack _ about it, and Tim had never been so wrong in his life. 

He watched in dumb struck horror as Rhys methodically made his way through the facility, recalibrating the experimental rifle until he got perfect headshots every time. Rhys loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top three buttons of his dress shirt, his vest still done up tight, yet he still looked perfectly composed. So he either held up better under pressure than Tim expected or he had shut down and was letting the rifles VI do the thinking for him. 

Either prospects were terrifying. 

The VI had been made to help mitigate the effects of PTSD on the field, but it had a nasty habit of taking over its hosts completely. Turning them into homicidal, methodical, psychopaths. It pushed to finish the mission no matter the cost, or damage to its host. It had a cruel streak that made even Handsome Jack seem normal, and it was clearly manifesting in Rhys.

But if it was the opposite?

If Rhys had somehow managed to disable the VI? 

Then how the fuck both Tim and Jack managed to miss this? If this was all Rhys, instead of the VI, it painted a grim picture. It pointed to Rhys having live combat experience. And a lot of it.

Tim tracked him as best he could, losing sight of him on occasion, but catching him again in a matter of minutes. It was telling, about Tim himself and how much he’d changed during his time as Jack’s Doppelganger, that watching people get murdered no longer turned his stomach like it once did. He watched the carnage Rhys caused with apathetic grace, relatively sure he’d freak out later about everything he’d seen, and he kept watching even as Rhys glided through the gore, back to the atrium where Jack had staged his defense. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eldritch is finally here, we get to see them. Popcorn is overjoyed.   
> Yet another Chapter that was panic written into being because continuity issues, but here it is.  
> With another to be on its way just before new years, if one can distract them from other things.  
> Popcorn with writing Angst, and having to continually change the angst dependant on Manga Updates. Also is in the process of posting it, so yay!  
> And Eldritch with... well their brain. It had a plot bunny and it bred. Rapidly.... now its spiralled out of control. They may or not post it, who knows, getting the Bloodied one to post this is like pulling teeth as it is.
> 
> With that Happy Holidays  
> ~🐀🐀 The Mischief Pantheon 🐀🐀~


	27. Handsome Jack

Jack was ecstatic to try out a handheld rocket launcher on live targets. 

Roland and Lilith’s Crimson Raiders attacking was the icing on the cake for this live test as far as he was concerned. He tried to keep an eye out for his leggy twig of a PA, but the bulk of the Crimson Raiders were clearly after him and he had to focus on them. They just kept throwing themselves at him.

It was only a matter of time before he lost sight of his lanky PA, to be honest. Despite his height, and the very obvious Echo Eye glow, the swarms of scattering scientists and hordes of raiders coming at him were distracting enough to pull his attention away just long enough. But Jack kept his signature grin firmly in place as he continued to mow them down, rockets leaving the tube in a steady staccato as calming and familiar to him as his own manic heartbeat.

Then Lilith, the fucking Bitch, showed her face. Incandescent rage raced through Jack’s veins as the edges of his vision darkened. Jack clung to the waking world with every thread of his willpower, as mindless destruction would not have Lilith dead at his feet. She was too cunning for that.

He needed his head on straight to deal with her. Especially when he noticed Roland slinking about. 

“Come to take on the Hero, ya spineless cowards? Couldn’t do it on your own, so you brought the whole damn cavalry!” He roared in defiance, even as the shadows deepened and the dead stared at him. “It doesn’t matter anyway! It still won’t be enough! Cause I! Am! The! Goddamned! Hero!”

He could hear gunfire all around him but it was distant as his world closed in on the Siren. Adrenaline surged as he ducked behind a convenient piece of debris when Lilith finally focused on him. Then his world went grey and he no longer had control. Not really. He just disconnected, an odd state that happened every once in a while when he needed to  _ think _ and not just  _ rage.  _

Everything was distended, slower than it should be, he got to watch as people around him exploded in gore. He could hear himself laughing, feel himself pulling the trigger. Emotions were distant, as he pinpointed someone's next move and told himself to react accordingly. Over and over he watched as people died, heard his own laughter over the retort of gunfire, felt however distantly the blood splattering onto his skin, and watched his shield flicker in the onslaught. 

While his body massacred everything in reach he focused on Lilith. Trying to find her weakness, trying to find just one small opening so his body could take her down. She needed to pay for her betrayal. They all did. But Lilith was the one who tried to ruin him.

His body dove behind cover, shield needing to recharge, seconds after he saw she was running out of ammo. That pistol of hers could only do so much with the amount of security he’d brought down with him. And she was flagging from so much use of her powers.

His time was now. 

He snapped back into control as he shot her thigh with the pistol on his hip, his feet already moving closer to her now kneeling form. Jack wasted no time in launching a fist into her face, the feel of bones cracking under his hands was bliss. She tried to fight back but he broke her arms in her attempt. Over and over he rained his fists down onto her body, even as her attempts to stave him off became more and more feeble. 

Finally, after all resistance fled her body did he stop.

“And the Hero always wins!” Jack crowed as he stared down at Lilith’s still body, blood seeping from his split knuckles. He, unfortunately, couldn’t lord it over her for very long as Roland interfered, hailing him in bullets, forcing Jack to retreat or be turned into swiss cheese.

Jack snarled as Roland called for a retreat, watching as the former Crimson Lance hoisted Lilith over his shoulder. Jack roared for security to kill them all but that was halted when the raiders pulled out smoke grenades. He cursed but once the smoke cleared he set out with orders.

Some of security was ordered to shore up their defenses, and others were ordered to look for survivors. Jack personally went about ensuring every last Bandit was dead, while keeping an eye out for his hopefully not dead PA.

Jack sure as fucking hoped Rhys wasn’t dead yet. He had legs for days and could actually keep his fucking schedule straight without breaking down into a terrified mess. 

He finally caught sight of that familiar nauseating green out of the corner of his eye. Jack’s head turned, expecting to see a terrified, possibly injured, Rhys being corralled back by either security or more Crimson Raiders hoping to use him as a bargaining chip. But that was not the sight that greeted him.

Rhys stood there, calm as can be, blood splattered all over his clothes, particularly his thighs and collar. Jack sucked in a breath as Rhys’s eyes flickered over the carnage briefly, a saccharine smile coiling on his lips, his echo eye a vibrant Hyperion Yellow. He looked deadly.

Jack took note of the cables spilling from his Echo Port that wrapped around his neck and body like an elaborate chain connected to the experimental gun that, if he remembered correctly, was called ‘Sniber Bifle’. Angel was the reason for that name but it was only a placeholder till the rifle was out of the experimental stages of development. Jack was pretty sure he saw a head tangled in the cables, but couldn’t be sure as it was mostly hidden behind Rhys’s hip.

He stood there stunned as Rhys’s eyes scanned the room, his arms confidently holding Sniber Bifle. “Holy fucking hell, Rhysie?! You look like you had fun!”

“Oh,” Rhys’s smile widened slightly, as he raised a hand to wave, showing the bloody karambit hanging from his fingers. “Hey, Jack.”

His PA had no right to look that fucking Sexy wielding experimental tech. Jack resolutely ignored his hard on in favour of asking Rhys a few questions. “You all good there, cupcake?”

“Hardly anything worse than a scratch, Jack.”

“Mhmm, where’d you pick up that gun?” Because if Jack remembered correctly it was kept under lock and key because the gun’s on board VI had a bad tendency to overload and fry whatever hardware they hooked up to it.

“Found it in one of the labs that got broken into, it looked like it would come in handy.”

“What’cha do with the VI princess?”

“I turned it off.” Rhys stated matter of factly, as if it were no more than routine. Jack nearly smacked himself, of course, his PA was a codemonkey. Obviously, he knew how to turn off a VI. 

“How’d you know there was a VI?” Jack was honestly curious, but still concerned about betrayal. If his team had a leak, something he needed to know.

“Echo eye, Jack. I scan everything.” Rhys offered plainly. “VI was obvious if you know what to look for.”

Jack stared at Rhys for a moment before laughing, Rhys merely smiled at him all cute and innocent like. As if he weren’t covered in blood. “Right, Rhysie, we need new staff. Scientists and the like. Beef up security. Shit got blown through way too easily.”

“I’ve already compiled a list of available personnel.” Rhys answered his rambling professionally, having predicted his plans before Jack himself thought of them. “I figured you’d be keeping this place open, so I had a look when not fending for my life. I just need your approval to put in the transfers.”

“Do it, shit needs to happen asap.” Jack growled, inordinately pleased that Rhys already had things set up to go. “Also I’mma need that rifle back cupcake.”

Rhys actually pouted at him, pulling the rifle closer to his chest. “But Jack!” He whined.

“No buts, princess. Rifle stays here. Maybe if you’re good, Daddy’ll get you one for Mercenary Day once it's finished.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY IT'S LATE!!!!!!!!!  
> New years am'ah'right?

**Author's Note:**

> We should be posting more every second Saturday evening PST.  
> Comments and kudos are welcome, and you are more than welcome to flame us as we are buried under a foot of snow and it shall warm the cockles of our hearts.


End file.
